Pop Motivations

I confess.  I’m in severe need of motivation these days.  One could even argue that I’m toeing the thin line that separates the cheerful from the depressed.  If the SO were to be believed, I have bipolar disorder.  To prod myself to get up in the morning for example, I have turned to classic lines (read: clichés) hoping that I could fool my subconscious and let me off the bed.  Think of that penguin in Happy Feet who, standing at the edge of the cliff, told himself to look the other way and then “accidentally” stepped off just so he can join the others who have willingly hurled themselves down that slippery slope.  At night, I turn to Bacardi to turn off the lights, but if anything, it only makes me horny.  Better horny than depressed I tell myself.  Horniness is easily cured.  Just stick that thing in something ajar and slam the fucking door.  It may sting a little bit, but it sure beats carving out a hole in your chest to sooth your sulking heart.

You be the shrink for once and tell me what it is that ails me, assuming that you still have a healthy, functioning brain.