I did, too. Gradually and gracefully accepted it. Only a few (sexual) regrets (but so many regrets for hurting people).

That's why the hypersexual manic episode shocked me. It lasted so long, it was so intense, the physically impossible became achingly possible, thinking that I was going to have to go to the hospital if not for the tag-team graces of former lovers. Three in a single bed, one with no legs? Imagine. Grotesque.

Keyser Söze – "Like that –*{poof} – he's gone."

So it goes. I guess it's been in the past week (I HAVE SUCH TROUBLE WITH TIME!) that I've been thinking of them. It started with a word – lissome. An old favorite that I've not used in decades that just popped into my head - just like everything just popping into my head lately. Then I thought of all four. Then 'long.' And I thought of the first three. Then tall, blonde, and the very first.

And now I've a fear that I'm headed for another manic episode. I'm certain of it. I've proof, now. No longer crying, not so overly sentimental but feeling overly sensual with memories.

And I don't know what to do.

I spent $20K during the last episode. I believed that I was in perfect control. I can feeling it draining - the control - just over the past three hours. I'm terrified. I'm uncertain of what I've done for the past week and I don't know how to make it stop. It's what I imagine a drug rush feels like. It feels good and I want it to stop. I don't want to feel these feelings. I wrote my ex-wife, an hour ago, a one page letter that may be the finest prose that I've ever written. She tortures me by refusing to give up the letters that I wrote to her shortly after we met. She fell in love with me through the letters. And I just did as I'm doing now – whirlwind, non-stop typing. I have to stop.