This poor blog, it’s like I’m in a depression and this blog is my general hygiene and appearance – ignored.
Truth be told, I am fighting a depression, but this has nothing to do with why I can’t get it together to post something, it’s the job.
Again with the job, I’m tired of talking and writing and bitching and moaning about this job.
The funny thing about this depression, is that I seem to be getting better at handling them. Instead of months of closing myself off in a room with cigarettes and Cure albums, I go through a few hours, half a day, of absolute despair and then clue in that I got some pretty good shit goin’ on. Positive movement, right?
You’d think so, but each time I’m able to crawl out of my boiling pot of self pity, I think it’s over, that I’ve concurred this demon depression. Then the next day I’m cock smacked in the face by it all over again
It feels like falling down a hill, limping back up said hill, just to have some hairy stranger pee in my mouth.
It’s not really like that at all. But then I start to think that I only see the negative of this situation because I’m fighting a depression, and then I get dizzy with the vortex my head begets.
And then I think I might need a haircut. But then I think I sort of like where my hair is now.
Then I think about those fish deep in the ocean, with the glowing dangly things that come off their heads and lure unsuspecting fish to their mealtime deaths.
Then I think about getting all done up on Ouzo, laying out in a field somewhere and laughing.
Then I think about the fact that with fewer postings here, I hesitate in typing out something just off the cuff and bizarre.
Then I think about how we should all be in Greece right now.
Then I think about how it’s Zeptember, and the Zeptember song of the day is “The Rain Song”.
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8 comments:
You make it sound like being cocksmacked in the face is a bad thing.
Dude-a-lude. Depression IS a hairy stranger peeing in your mouth while you're tied down. You know what's wrong - you can see it and taste it - but it still takes a while to get away from it what with those ropes and all.
Much love from P-town (that's "P" for Pescadero). And yes, I did want to sound like a white wannabe gangsta just then.
snap out of it.
or get drunk and make out with randoms. thats helpful too.
i thought you wouldn't notice it was me...i guess the hair gave it away.
Thank you for bringing back Zeptember, my life was clearly lacking.
As for the depression, try vitamins and exercise--remembering to drink your 8 glasses of water, daily. Or maybe bringing a handgun to work.
Why do you think I run so much?
*HUG* Let's please tot it up sometime soon.
Remember being 8 years old and getting slammed into the water by that seemingly perfect wave? Panic, terror, loss of all physical and emotional control... only to float back to the surface seconds later?
Have faith in buoyancy, my friend.
<3
I’m right there with you peddling down depression road. It's bleak. I’m not so much depressed as I am vastly disappointed.
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