Its Manic!

Again! These cycles that swirl and spin of manic depression. Sounds of Nayabingi drums thundering away and turn me into a snapper. Snapping at the ones I love most. Fun only exists in the middle of my brain when I walk the solitary path of solitude. In solitude I am safe. I am sacred and untouchable. In solitude I only commune with great folks, not tittle-tattlers who seek wisdom in loud banter and waste of spit.