Category Archives: Depression

Tuesday was a Carnival of Suck, and It’s My Fault For Getting Out of Bed

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Misstep #1: Waking up

I wanna shoot the whole day down. It just got off on the wrong foot, and then it stumbled awkwardly on that wrong foot from hour to hour like a drunk in an old-timey picture show.

First, I woke up in a crap mood. I had a dream that was vaguely boring and vaguely annoying that left me feeling equal parts bored and annoyed when I woke up.

It was cloudy outside. My pajamas felt all twisty. I could have used another hour of sleep. I was thirsty for juice, and I had no juice. What smells like onion? Everything was wrong, but it was just a bunch of inconsequential little things.

It had been foretold. Even my horoscope has been warning me to just sit this month out. Mercury is retrograde and something about eclipses forming a kind of Bermuda Triangle of unremitting badness and blah blah blah. Basically, I need to lay low until everything is done eclipsing.

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My actual horoscope.

But I don’t believe in astrology. I believe in science. So I said “to hell with this,” took a hot shower, put on a black dress and my black knee-high boots, pulled my hair back in a pony-tail and started my day like a champ.

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Ready(ish) to face the day.

Things begin to fall apart. I got in my car and noticed I was low on gas. No problem, I thought. I’ve got this. I pulled into the Hess station and filled the tank. Paid with my debit card. While I was filling the tank, I put the debit card on the trunk of my car. I distinctly remember thinking “Don’t forget the debit card. Boy would it suck to lose your debit card. Ha ha.” (We all know where this is story is headed at this point, right?)

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I got back into my car and drove in to my office. Found a space – filled the older meter with quarters. No problem! Attended a couple of meetings, got some work done, and headed back out to move my car when the 2-hour meter was up. Found a new space, parked, pulled out my wallet to pay the meter with my debit card and…IT WAS GONE OH MY GOD, YOU NEVER EXPECTED THAT, DID YOU?

I searched my car. I searched my jacket pocket. I went through every card in my wallet multiple times. I looked in every likely and unlikely place for the debit card. I knew on some level that it was gone forever — that the triangle of celestial doom had cast it’s evil hoo-doo on my debit card as punishment for my hubris.

Every stranger that passed me on Boylston Street seemed to be laughing at my woe like a Greek chorus. Taunting me.

The wind. It’s important to note that it was a particularly windy day in Copley Square. Back Bay tends to be windier than other areas of town, so on a gusty day, you can find yourself walking into the wind at a 45-degree angle, screaming — but producing no audible sound.

When I finally accepted that the debit card was gone, I fished out some quarters, fed the meter, got my little meter-sticky to attach to the inside of my driver’s side window. Just when I was affixing the meter sticky to the window, a great gust blew up from under my legs, sending my dress up, up, up and into my face, exposing my undercarriage while I struggled to hold onto the very important sticker (bought with the last of my available funds).

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The universe conspired to make this happen.

I don’t understand why Marilyn Monroe seemed to enjoy the gusty up-skirt experience. I guess she didn’t have the meter to contend with, or the astrological admonitions. All I know is that I did not look or feel glamorous in any way. I hope to Christ nobody caught it on camera.

Minutes later, a plastic shopping bag came flying toward my face as I crossed Copley Square to go to my bank. I punched it away with the grim resignation of a hardened soldier.

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Kicking My Own Dopey Ass Off a Cliff (In a Good Way)

I attended a talk earlier this week – a dialog between a Buddhist shastri and a Unitarian Universalist minister. The talk itself was funny and lovely and interesting. They touched on their personal takes on human nature, spiritualism, and community and ended with the reading of the Mary Oliver poem “The Summer Day.” The poem ends with a question, which we were asked to ponder:

 What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?winding-path

It’s interesting how this question was raised for me right now, given my state of mind. I’m feeling a lack of motivation that I need to overcome. I need to need something. Maybe that something is not love. Maybe it’s achievement. Maybe it’s creating a positive change in the world. But something. Something that starts a fire in my belly and puts a spring in my step.

I’m bored and unmotivated and I’ve been sort of passively awaiting inspiration. It could be that this is the wrong approach, that I should be acting despite my instincts, here. Fake it ‘til I make it, so to speak.

What’s more – come to think of it, I believe I am actively avoiding or ignoring inspiration. I was invited to join an advanced screenwriting class by a teacher who taught my last class in the spring. It’s been bothering me – this half-written thing. I’d really like to finish it. But for some reason, I am making excuses for ignoring his email. The class will cost money and funds are a little tight. I signed up for a comedy skit writing class that starts in mid-October. I’m in a weekly discussion group that requires reading. I’ve committed to some volunteer work at the meditation center I attend.

These are all good things. They are. I just need to locate my give-a-shit. I seem to have misplaced it. I am this little dopey bird, and I need to be booted off the cliff immediately:

I don’t want to be the dopey bird forever. So does that mean I should sign up for the screenwriting class, finish my screenplay, submit a cartoon to the New Yorker, jump headlong into work, revise some old essays and start submitting them, pay to set up my blog properly, buy some knee-high Doc Martens and just hold my breath and do it all? To hell with the expenses and never mind how many hours are actually in a day. Just fucking do the stuff that you want to do because honestly you do have the energy, you just need to get your ass into gear and find your get-up-and-go.

Just decide to kick ass at everything. All of the things. Enough of this sitting on my ass and hiding in plain sight. If I fail, at least I will fail spectacularly.

blah, depression, humor, plant, grey, funny

Anyone Else Having a Blah Day?

I am in a blah mood.

IMG_0318The sky is white. My blouse is grey. The temperature is neither cool nor warm and there does not appear to be a breeze of any sort blowing. I’m in no mood for this day, which is to say that I am in no mood. I lack affect or ambition. I had a protein bar and coffee for breakfast, which is my basic regular-unleaded fuel for the day – the minimum required to keep me alive.

 It’s the anniversary of September 11, which is always tinged with sadness. Maybe that’s contributing to the greyness. I don’t know.

I think I’ll just have to be at peace with the idea that today is not destined for greatness. It’s a blah day. And I feel ok.

Morose Musings on Mollusks, Mullets and Mercury

These are merely random musings, and do not necessitate any 9-1-1 calls.

I hate Hump Day, and I hate people who say Hump Day. I’m pretty sure literally everyone feels the same way.

I want to slather Vaseline on my face and then wrap it in swaddling towels with a tiny hole in the front for looking out. Then just lay on my couch watching Suze Orman lecturing some dude about his IRA. Stupid idiot. You need a Roth.

Maybe I could order a box of romance books and then set them on fire. I doubt my landlady would appreciate that, but what does she know of hearbreak? Continue reading

Fuck It: In Defense of Saying ‘Uncle’

edisonThomas Edison famously claimed that genius was “One percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” It’s pithy, and I appreciate the sentiment — I really do. Clearly Mr. Edison was a genius and a successful man. But it also sounds to me like a relentless douchebag congratulated himself for being a such a relentless douchebag. And the world shouted “hooray,” because we love that shit.

Never give in. Never say die. Never give in the overwhelming might of the enemy. Never, never never. Never give up hope. Do not go gentle into that goodnight. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It’s as American as apple pie and Mighty Mouse and Super-Sized energy drinks.

I am in no way a relentless douchebag. I’m a quitter.  Continue reading