the lows have dropped lower than the highs flew up. even in the highest of highs, there was always that tiny voice tick-tocking off time to me, assuring me time was precious, not only that it was dear and needed, but that there was indeed not enough time to go around in life. i think that is why i always obsessed with winston churchill, the similar manic depressive. he was the opposite, in that way i think. he always had that cocksure, omniscient voice whispering to him that time was immaterial to his mission, time was nothing in the face of his great destiny. there was more than enough to go around. he was always talking about it, even in his youth it seems, his personal bright star would never lead him astray, always so obnoxious with the knowledge that time was on his side, fate was his friend, and even while going through hell, he would keep going. even as a man on the run in the boer war, he called ahead to assure the press of his inevitable, heroic survival. there was always a stable, existential road ahead to support his footfall, never a misstep in his young mind. but that is just the lie we tell ourselves, even the sanest, most grounded-in-reality individual.