Sucks, Cheshire; I've spent most of my life as the "intellectual *****" guy... you know, "Tell me something interesting", where girls for whom I am a sucker talk to me only when they're single, to make themselves feel better. Blech.

So I've traveled home for a few weeks for the first time in a very long while, to visit and help with some family things (mostly people moving). It feels good in a lot of ways to be in a different environment (especially one that isn't so hot), but it also seems to make me more susceptible to episodes of both poles. Right now I'm floating on what feels like a pretty decent bout of hypomania, getting a lot done, but it's all tinged with frustration. I'm typing about a hundred-and-twenty words per minute, but it doesn't all quite connect; the words aren't really flowing and my ideas seem logically structured one second and all over the place the next. I think the finished project is workable, i.e., easily edited into something worthwhile when I'm in a calmer state of mind, but I'm not entirely sure.

I suppose I'm motivated/angered by having received rejections for two papers submitted for conferences in a 24 hours span. Meanwhile, three colleagues who submitted for the same conferences were accepted. One of whom is behind me in our program. hate to admit it but I'm jealous. And bitter. But also motivated to write more, do more, achieve more. Blargh.