Archive for the ‘thought patterns’ Category

I bet he secretly likes Oprah

Friday, May 14th, 2010

I’ve decided that I need to be better about doing different things just for the sake of doing them.  I think I’m falling prey too easily to the illusion that I can’t do anything until I’m feeling better, or that a certain activity might not be that enjoyable so I’ll skip it.  …Not even in the dramatic depressive way, but just in the everyday sort of way.  I’ve been in the clenches of this mentality for a long time, I think.  Sometimes it’s just the thought that I’m too tired to [do paperwork, exercise, go out, play a game, raise chickens…whatever] on a particular night, so I should wait for some other night to do that.  This is true from time to time, but more often I feel better once I’m living my life more fully.  I need to experiment with getting back to that again.  Richer activities take a lot more energy, which is daunting these days, but maybe once I’m in the habit it will be easier.  Plus, it’s rare that those energized evenings ever actually get there, and I don’t want to be missing out.

Of course, this is really all stuff that I had mastered a full year ago.  Sometimes I re-have a particular epiphany several times before it actually starts to sink in for good.

So yes, working towards doing stuff even if I don’t feel up to it, and doing things just to see what happens rather than needing to wait for something reliably good.

It’s a fine line for me, because I have to pay close attention to the difference between deliberately choosing not to do anything because that would be nice for me in that moment versus not doing anything for the reasons listed above.  I’m not so good at that whole “balance” thing, so there’s always the danger of pushing myself beyond the point that it’s good for me and into the point where a bagpipe lesson in carnivorous plants would be more pleasant.  I am not, in fact, a robot, and even if I was I probably couldn’t go at full steam all the time.  I’m sure even the Terminator was lounging on the couch in some of the scenes they didn’t show.  Between blowing up that thing, and killing that guy?  Yeah.  Totally watching TV.

And just because I’m on the topic of rediscovery, I came across this picture of our boy yesterday and have to share it.  Is that not the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen?  He is the indeed the master of trying things for the experience without worrying about how they’ll turn out.

Sleeping Cat

I’m Sure I’ll Get Around To Titling This Tomorrow

Friday, April 16th, 2010

My task for the coming week is to try to break down and analyze the subtle “LORD NO PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME DO IT I DON’T WANT TO DO IT KEEP IT AWAY ACK ACK” reaction that I sometimes have to work-related or administrative tasks.  You have paperwork to be done?  I can do that for you.  Here, let me help.  I have paperwork to be done?  ….Wait, where did I go?  …Me? … Hello?  …Bueller?

I think maybe it has something to do with how long I’ve been putting off…Er…I mean, legitimately unable to complete it.  The longer it sits in that pile on my desk, giving me judgmental sidelong glances, the less I want to have anything to do with it.  See, by that time it comes all tied up with reassuring things like stress, and guilt, and feelings of failure.  And I’m just not always nice enough to allow myself that kind of reassurance.

(I’m a bitch like that sometimes.)

On the plus (and completely unrelated) side, on my way home today I finally remembered to pick up some BBQ lighters.  I like them for lighting candles, and aromatherapy diffuser thingies (Don’t judge – research says that they might actually help.  And I don’t actually own any hemp, nor to my knowledge has anything I’m currently wearing been tie dyed.), and the citronella candles for our backyard.  And with the overwhelming burden of all of these many things that I simply must light on fire, I figured that more than one lighting device, located in more than one location, might be handy to have.  I’m not entirely sure what the cashier thought when I went in and purchased three barbeque lighters and a roll of tape.  I’m sure it was perfectly innocent.

It really does sound like a feminine hygiene product. …Or the admission of a twelve-year-old girl

Friday, April 2nd, 2010

Instead of going to bed last night, my husband and I got into a conversation about the iPad.  For the life of me I don’t remember how.  Of course, as most conversations do in our household, this eventually degraded into a series of progressively worse puns on the topic.

“Maybe their next microphone will be called the iScream.”

“Maybe next they’ll start diversifying, and launch some sporting goods.  They could have the iBall!”

“And then they could add running shoes, and call them iRan!”

“And breast implants!  ….iRack.”

“And then when they have enough money, they can create their own empire and have an iLand.”

It’s no wonder I have nightmares sometimes.

Things are generally going well at the moment.  Tentatively well, but well none the less.  Of course, as mentioned previously my definition of “well” is a little bit skewed at the moment, but I’ll take what I can get.

No therapy for the past couple of weeks.  I get a little impatient waiting a week in between, so this is enough that I’ve almost forgotten it existed sometimes.  Apparently that rush, rush, rush, strive, strive, strive perfectionism is actually a common symptom of the depression and/or of people who become depressed.  I know because I’m reading yet another book now.  Because I’m a perfectionist.

The last therapy session was interesting.  She had me sitting down across from my critical voice (or an empty chair where it supposedly was sitting), and talk directly to it.  And yes, this probably sounds a little odd, but I’m pretty willing to make a complete and utter fool of myself if it will kick this thing.  I would strap on some chickens and a goth wig every day if I thought it would help.  A little empty-chair-conversation is nothing.

Anyway, I had to recall a recent situation in which it was vocal.  To be honest, I am terrible at this now.  Always have been, really, if I’m being entirely honest.  It’s part of the reason I either kick ass or suck ass at job interviews depending on what they ask me.  Unless I’ve pre-selected things in advance, I have a terrible time trying to come up with examples of situations on the spot.  My mind is totally blank on those things.  This is why I have also deliberately committed to memory an “embarrassing moment,” “most frightening experience,” and a bad joke or two.  In case somebody asks.  Because they tend to from time to time.  Sometimes I feel like I was absent the day that they covered my life experiences.

(which isn’t actually surprising, since depression literally EATS YOUR BRAIN where it’s responsible for creating long term memories.  …But I digress.)

So I sort of gave a very vague explanation of the sort of situation that tends to come up often for me.  There is a lot of “you look stressed and/or disappointed and/or irritated and/or bitter, therefore I am unlovable” in my life.  Which yes, makes no sense, but as mentioned I am depressed.  So these things happen sometimes.  Then I had to switch chairs to look at myself from the critical point of view, and let myself have it.  I will admit that there were a couple of awkward moments after the first wave where I ran out of things to say for a while, but overall it wasn’t as hard as I might have thought.

Switch back to being “myself” and tell the voice how I’m feeling.  At which point I described the appropriate emotions and the reasons for them, and then began to go to town on my critical voice.  Because it pisses me off, damn it, and I’ve been stuck with the darn thing long enough to know it.  I also have this habit of getting belatedly angry when I realize that I have been in an extended unfair situation and I haven’t spoken up for myself or demanded better.  Like, really angry.  All the built up anger that was warranted that whole time kind of angry.  Belatedly angry is really the only kind of angry I can do at all yet, but I’m damn good at it.  Anyway, nothing’s been more unfair than the crazy belittling voice in my head, so I gave it what for.

Switch back to the voice, at which point I sat there kind of abashed for a while, and then started to mentally criticize my ability to successfully criticize myself (yes folks, my internal critical voice has its very own critical voice.  I am the never ending Russian nesting dolls of admonishment).

I had a pretty good idea going into this what criticisms I was likely to heap on myself in the beginning.  I knew clearly the emotions that resulted from them too.  What threw me a little was that in that moment, while my critical voice was sitting there chastised, I had the overwhelming awareness that it felt bad because it was only trying to help.

I guess this makes sense in a twisted way.  It’s a defense mechanism.  I’ve been burned now and then, and by keeping right on top of me, or pushing me incessantly, or pointing out what’s going wrong, or making sure I’m aware of potential flaws so that I don’t get myself into challenging situations, I can avoid getting into situations where I might get hurt again.  In fact, I can avoid getting into pretty much any situation.  I had never thought of it that way, though.  I always assumed that voice in my head was somebody else’s, and definitely up to no good.

Now I know that it’s well-intentioned.  It’s just also horribly incompetent.

Which makes it more annoying, but less powerful, I guess.

And they play it on my radio station all the time. That’s a lot of crazy hair.

Wednesday, March 31st, 2010

Every time I hear that “Tick Tock” song on the radio, I mishear one of the lyrics in the chorus as “party on top.”  …And it makes me think of a reverse mullet every time.

And no, that statement has no bearing on the rest of this post whatsoever.

Trying to pin down and compare emotional responses and perspectives is a difficult thing.  Am I better on the Wellbutrin than I was before I started trying medications?  Hard to say.  It is better than the Prozac.  Better than the Luvox.  More consistent than the Ritalin.  Much better than the Cipralex, and eons ahead of the Effexor.  But down to subtle details?  That’s tough.

Because in the moment, things always seem to make perfect sense to me.  When I’m having terrible PMS, I often recognize that I am overreacting to something.  When I’m having a sudden and intense emotional period because of a change in medications, I can tell that isn’t really me.  But in the day to day?  The “normal” state of things at any given time?  It all seems to make sense given the circumstances.  I am sad because my relationship is more distant.  I am not doing much because everything is boring.  I don’t want to make phone calls because the thought of them gives me a headache.  And nothing seems “so bad,” or like a concern that’s really valid enough that I need help.

And then after the fact, my medication changes, and my world takes on a different set of complications, and I have a What the Hell Was I Thinking moment or two.   And I boggle at how I could have found things to be normal, or that I didn’t fully recognize just how bad things had been.  It’s amazing what can seem perfectly natural and justified at the time.

So I’ve been trying to keep track, in those moments, of the things that I realize are a vivid sign of being unwell.  So that when the meds change again and I’m back in that place I will know without doubt that if that feature is present there is still something wrong.  So I don’t have to wonder if a particular medication is working or not, or if I should be feeling guilty for not being back at work. I’m sure that the list is woefully incomplete, but I can only identify the ones that have at least temporarily cleared up, or that were medication-induced in the first place.  There are a lot of features in the description of depression that I have never yet had a break from (Do some people truly not feel guilty or inferior all the time?), so for now, they remain just an unremarkable and stable part of me.

Features I now use to identify when I am having problems:

1) Lying on the floor out of a lack of seemingly better options as an activity.

2) Frequent thoughts of death, or heightened awareness of all the ways in which I could end my life (swerving into traffic, turning on the gas, etc.).

3) Finding picturing my own suicide “comforting,” even if the thought is not accompanied by any actual desire to act on the image.

4) Arriving at every appointment 45 – 60 minutes early, because I “wanted to make absolutely sure I wasn’t late.” (this was a part of my Prozac Anxiety phase)

5) Finding the duty of changing my cat’s water bowl every morning an overwhelming responsibility, and one that I sometimes need to build up to.

6) Sobbing.  Not crying, but sobbing.  Over something that is itself totally inconsequential.

At least 2, 3, and 6 I had before I started all this, to varying degrees.  Number 5 was not an issue, and number 1 was totally a new one on me.  With the Wellbutrin, I am doing better with these (though I still register highly on the other features of depression).  I still cry a lot, and rarely for justified reasons, but I can feed my cats without needing any elaborate self-talk.

Of course, rather than making me feel hopeful, the improvement just makes me feel like I must be cured now then, and guilty about being off work.  Because feeding my cats for one minute every morning equates somehow to being able to face down a stressful ten hour day.  Because I am depressed still.  And I feel guilty about things like that.

Traumatized, I tell you.

Friday, March 26th, 2010

So the p-doc now thinks that my body was so traumatized by the Effexor withdrawal I went through last year that now the signal of lowering my dosage of SSRI is triggering it to go bat shit crazy all on its own.  So it’s not the Luvox.  It is me.  My own sweet body, making me dizzy and nauseous, and plummeting levels of certain chemicals, and getting my brain to electrocute me.  Great.

I’m not sure how much I entirely buy it yet (he’s suggested some things to try in order to prove or disprove it).  I’m also not entirely sure which verdict I’m pulling for.  Would feel like a bit of an idiot if it’s my own chemistry sabotaging me and putting me through all of this.  But on the plus side, I might be able to get clear of the Luvox more easily.  And it’s the option that doesn’t involve me vomiting all day as a result of the testing.  Also, I would have the MOST POWERFUL BRAIN EVER.  Which is kind of cool on its own.

But damn, if it can affect my neurotransmitter levels that strongly, then somebody tell me what I need to do to kick this whole depression thing and just get my brain doing that for me instead.  Also, I would like some weight loss.  And x-ray eyes.

Had another night of crappy sleep last night combined with my now-patented 4 or 5 am awakening.  I literally let out a “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” today when the morning alarm went off.  And I was still fully awake to hear it.  This says something, as unless I am driving or playing video games, I am not naturally a big swearer.  I say scathing things, like “crap” and “drat.”  I reserve the right to moan and whine about the frequent awakening a little, as I do not have babies yet.  I’m sure all of the new moms are rolling their eyes a little, but can probably sympathize.

(except that if you’ll read above, I’ve patented it now.  So you’ll owe me.)

The Wellbutrin continues to make a positive contribution aside from the sleep thing.  According to my mind, this is apparently cause for much celebration, followed by an instant of panic that I may be put back to work, followed by some worrying about trying to deal with that side of things and the decisions surrounding it, followed by the rationalization that if it causes so much panic still I’m probably not yet well enough to go back, followed by a moment of relief, followed by another moment of panic that they might send me anyway, followed by lunch.

Mmmm.  Lunch.


Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

I hesitate greatly before writing anything negative here.  I don’t like to let on that I’m sad sometimes, or struggling, or that I have any weaknesses.  Yes.  I have labeled this a “depression blog” and don’t want to admit that I’m sad sometimes.  Because of the shock.  And the surprise.  Part of me is trapped even here in that “I’m fine, how are you?” mode of being that just about every depressed person cultivates.  Because it does not ever seem okay to honestly let out how you are.

Tonight I am wondering why I cannot seem to keep any sense of permanence that my husband loves me.  I know intellectually that he does, and if anyone asked me I would go on and on about it, but every now and then my world view slips a little, and slowly begins to shift things under the surface, and then one evening I realize that I am not in RealityLand anymore.  The worst part is that because I clearly recognize that the doubts are irrational, I try to ignore them, and repress them, which means that most of the time they end up festering somewhere in a forgotten corner of my mind.  And I just find myself worrying one night that maybe we don’t really have a fully trusting relationship anymore, or that maybe he is frustrated or fed up with me, or on some level just doesn’t want to deal with me anymore.  I worry that he’s going through the motions because he’s devoted like that, but that he doesn’t actually enjoy my company.

And the part of me that knows the depression gets the better of me sometimes backs those worries up.

Is it really SO hard for me to truly believe that somebody could actually love me?  That I’m worthy, and likable?  Why am I suddenly and completely unexpectedly bursting into tears when he calls and tells me that he’s still my person.  Why does that make my eyes water again writing it now?  I so badly want for him to be my person.  What twisted part of me thinks it’s not true?

Damn my father for never being anything but irritated with me when I was little and we still lived with him.  Damn the bully who followed me home every day in eighth grade telling me over and over how worthless and ugly and unlikable I was.  And damn myself for believing it, and carrying it around with me for so long.

I recognize it.  I acknowledge that it’s messed up, and not helpful.  …I just wish that I could figure out how to make it go away.

The Bright Side

Wednesday, March 17th, 2010

Normally with that title, this could be expected to be a follow-up on what I had mentioned before about light therapy, but today I actually intend to focus on the positive. The positive that involves less pun-related groaning.

I read once, on another site, a list of the “12 best things about being mentally ill.” Got me thinking about my own perspective on this, and I’ve always sort of intended to create a list of my own. I think perhaps today I will.

My Twenty-Five Upsides To Being Diagnosed With Depression:

1) Since I had to list it on my introductory medical form, everyone in my new dentist’s office was really nice to me. Like, they didn’t even harass me about not flossing. That nice.

2) The insurance company can’t complain when I haven’t sent them their requested forms yet. Even if they have already called three times to check in on them.

3) Getting a diagnosis means that instead of being weak and sub-par for the many years that I troupered through this on my own, I was actually a titan.

4) Since being forced to discuss my deepest, most personal insecurities with strangers, I’ve become a lot less self-conscious in talking about anything else. Wanna’ know about my sex life? Sure! (Note to creepy strangers: Do not actually e-mail to ask about my sex life.)

5) I have become WAY more self-aware than I ever was – and I would have described myself as an extremely introspective person. There are subtle reactions and thought patterns and all kinds of crazy shit going on in there that I really had no idea about before.

6) I have learned new depths of what it means for my husband to love me. When you’re going through a debilitating downturn and are distressed because you don’t feel able to take care of your basic needs, and he offers that if you want you can just stand in the shower and he’ll wash you off so that you can feel clean, that’s love.

7) I have learned a TON about the human brain, how it works, and its potential to change and grow physiologically speaking. Very cool stuff, and not at all limited by how it relates to depression in particular.

8) Not always being able to please people and give them what they want because of the limitations of the depression has made me much more able to do it in general.   No Mom, I’m just not going to send a thank you card to my uncle for that.  Not because I’m a bad person, just because I have other things going on that are more important right now.  I have also learned that an 8 with a bracket beside it makes sunglasses-happy-face.

9) I have a much clearer vision of the things that are truly important to me, and the things that really are not.  And I am slowly learning not to give 100% of myself to the latter.  Perfectionism is a hard habit to break, but I am trying now.  I didn’t even truly recognize it as a negative before.

10) I used to care to the extreme what people thought of me and whether they were judging me. Being forced to spend a lot of time potentially being EXTREMELY harshly judged by people has made me much more immune to the effects. I still care more than I would like about what people think of me, but not nearly as much as I did before. I am much more willing to be more sincerely myself now, whether or not I think that people will like it.

11) I have been able to recommend strategies and/or books and/or other resources to my sister, mother, and husband, all of whom could probably use the help. My husband’s own life is better now because of what I have learned for myself.

12) I have a new awareness of the difference between thoughts that signal that I am well, and those that indicate a problem. “I want to go see friends” – well. “I want to drown in the bathtub” – not well. Believe it or not, this was not once as obvious as it might seem. I didn’t realize it still counted if I didn’t really intend to follow through.

13) I get to spend a lot more time with my cats.

14) I am fully caught up on all kinds of T.V. that I would never have gotten around to watching.

15) I am now absolutely thrilled to be feeling “kind of down” or “kind of nauseous.” Everything is relative, and I really do appreciate the positives now. In the windows of time where the depressive fog clears for a moment, the whole world is magical.

16) I have formed interesting relationships with internet people and communities as a result of the times that I didn’t feel up to going out, or didn’t really have anywhere to go.

17) I made a blog.

18) I discovered many ways of more effectively coping with stress. I have always been a pretty high stress person, and had I not have broken down completely, I could have lived for years just being kind of drained and miserable.

19) It has inspired me to reconsider my career. Before the full break-down and being forced to step away from it for a while, I knew that my job was a strain on me but thought that I would miss it terribly if I ever walked away. I walked away. I’ll live. I need a less stressful job.

20) I have connected with tons of other people who are struggling with the same thing, many of whom were already in my life, and some of whom didn’t tell me previously. I never would have known, and we have a closer relationship now.

21) My goals and priorities have shifted very much from my work life to my personal life. I always felt that work was less important, but in the past it always managed to take over anyway. I am really hoping that this won’t be the case as much next time around.

22) I am now making time to do the things that are important to me, rather than waiting for time to come.

23) I have been forced to SLOW. DOWN.

24) I am gradually learning to identify and ask for what I need, and to be able to accept help.

25) If I come out of this, I truly think that I am going to be a much more self-secure, centred, vivacious, sincere person on the other side. That may never have happened without this, and think of all the time I would have missed.


Saturday, March 13th, 2010

My life in a nutshell.  …Or at least in compellingly bad drawings.

I don’t tend to do much internetting on the weekends.  We’re already about two hours short of time for what we had planned to do today, and we’ve only been awake for about three hours (you think I am joking, but I’m not.  Really.  Two hours behind out of three.).  And yes, we schedule these things sometimes.  Because otherwise how will we know to berate ourselves for discussing the future of our car purchases when there was YOGA TO BE DONE?

Conclusions?  If my husband does not get a more comfortable car he will immediately turn into a shriveled old man, and I don’t want THAT, do I?  Also that we do not in any way have the money to get the car that we want.  And that buying a giant old chevy or something makes me feel a little dirty inside.

I sometimes think my life would be significantly improved if I only scheduled more.  Sometimes that it would be significantly improved if  I only scheduled less.  Maybe it depends on what I’m scheduling  (Is there an award for most anal person ever?  Because I am fairly sure the last few statements may have given me an edge… I’m not, really, but I would take your award.  I like awards.).  Left to my own devices I tend to feel pressured to jump from one productive thing to the next, and just end up ignoring work tasks sometimes but feeling super guilty about it rather than enjoying the moment (and by “sometimes” I may be underestimating just a tad).  If there’s something more pleasant on the schedule, then I have no choice but to do it.  And like it.  Because it’s ON THE SCHEDULE.  And you don’t mess with shit like that.

Up, up and a way out

Tuesday, March 9th, 2010

I got a new shipment of self-help books today.  I went a little book-crazy in the first months after getting my diagnosis.  I read a very large number of things in a very short time frame, and have since been labeled as a little nuts for this by my current therapist (in her defense, it was a very large number).  It’s a coping mechanism for me, I guess, that I want as much information as possible.  Takes some of the stress off, and lets me feel like I’m doing everything that could be done (I do this in other areas of my life as well…getting our cats, planning my wedding, scheduling the honeymoon.  Not always with books, per say, but I sure do my research).  Plus, I’m not good at handing off responsibility for my well being to somebody else.

I acknowledge her point.  Sometimes this lets me get my hopes up that I will find a solution that may not be coming, or sets my expectations at levels I can’t possibly reach (except on the honeymoon – priceless!).  And of course, if you scan the previous paragraph for extreme language, it’s not possible to do “everything” that could be done.  I like to get pretty damn close, though.

I was good this time, and tried to keep my book-related expectations as reasonable as possible, and saved my bank account as best I could.  I sifted through reviews and personal recommendations, and weeded out those that I didn’t absolutely want to read right away or those that were duplicates on the same basic subject.  I left the $50 volume on my wish list instead of in my shopping cart.  I acknowledged that there may be tiny bits of help in what I was buying, but that they might not contain the definitive answer.

I have learned a lot from my books, though.  Really a lot.  I always had a kind of biased impression of self-help books.  Maybe from scanning through my mother’s copy of “Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus” when I was younger.  Maybe just because there really is a lot of tripe out there.  What I’ve read has been exceptionally useful, though.  I have learned a lot more and improved a lot more from the reading I’ve done than I have from both of my therapists.  Not to say that they’re no good, just that I get a lot more strategies a lot faster from my reading, and I’m pretty diligent about putting them to use.

(Not always so good about following through in great depth, but that’s a post on its own.  I like to master things quickly.  So the stuff that takes years of practice to progress with?  Not my strong suit.)

I have to say, the more I read about this stuff, the more fascinated I am with how much there is out there that we’re just now barely starting to comprehend.  Also with how many “fringe” things actually have a scientific backing if they’re done correctly.  Meditation has tons of legitimate research behind it now (as effective as Prozac, they say), but I’ll be damned if my psychiatrist would ever suggest it to me.  First psychologist, yes.  Psychiatrist, no.

Today I started adding guided imagery to my repertoire.  I am on some level hopeful that maybe some of what I’m doing will keep an allergic reaction away.  It’s not actually unreasonable – there have been some studies done in which people managed to prevent a reaction to poison ivy, or create a poison ivy rash from harmless plants.  The Wellbutrin is harmless…The Wellbutrin is safe…Please let the Wellbutrin actually help me so I’ll be justified in doing all this…

So far it seems very much like meditation with a slight twist to it.  That’s fine.  I acknowledge that it would be good for me to meditate again anyway.  Can’t say the thought of actually committing to it doesn’t come with an expectation of progress, though.  I remember the last time I was taking Wellbutrin and meditating daily, and I felt freer and more self-content than I ever have in my life.  Can I get myself to do this every day without looking for that, or being disappointed if I don’t see improvements?  I’m not sure that I can.

As a side note, the book mentioned in passing something about a “safe” memory from childhood.  I am not entirely certain that I have one of these, and it is weirding me right out.  I have many “pleasant” memories, but most of them are tinged with one kind of stress or another.  Pure safety and comfort seems to come with a parent.  My father was not helpful, and I always felt on some level like I needed to take care of my mom.  It would crush her to know that.  Which is why I’ll never tell her.  Because I need to take care of my mom.  Maybe children shouldn’t worry about whether it’s a good financial idea to buy that Barbie doll.  Not nearly as dramatic as the terrible traumas many people have been through, so it’s another example of what I tend to write off as irrelevant or self-indulgent lines of thought.  Still, one more moment of feeling suddenly like my life has maybe been a lot more interesting than I thought it was.

And not always in a good way.

Interesting times.

“But your cats are so unusual! They could just be sitting there.”

Monday, March 8th, 2010

I’ve got to have the only cat on the planet who would see me coming with his eye drops, run in the other direction, and then when I manage to make brief physical contact with his back in the midst of his running, promptly flop over and purr.

Today is alright so far.  I’ve had coffee.  I’ve wasted time on the internet.  How bad can that really be, right?  I have not yet been stressed out.  I have not yet gotten lonely.  My mother has not yet called to tell me that if I entered America’s Funniest Videos, I might win prize money.  Again.

(This is my mother’s way of trying to provide for my future. Which I have to love her for.  But also, please stop.  There has to be something actually happening in the video for it to win.)

I won a free coffee from Tim Horton’s this weekend.  Maybe that will make her feel better.

Have a dentist’s appointment this afternoon.  A couple of weeks ago I fell into one of those perfect hours, where the stars were aligned, and the heavens opened up, and nobody breathed too hard, and I accomplished some of my administrative tasks.  Consequently, I have had a plethora of appointments in the past couple weeks.  I have had casts made of my feet, I have had my gums prodded, I have been documented, and examined, and x-rayed.  I have realized that this would be more pleasant in the future if I didn’t make those calls all at once.

Of course, preparing to go to the dentist, and then going to the dentist, and then returning home from the dentist is enough productivity to expect from one day, my brain tells me.  I can’t tell anymore if this is reasonable, and in line with learning to be kinder to myself I should listen to it, or if this is limiting, and in line with trying not to let the depression deceive me I should push myself harder.

Not that it really matters what I decide on intellectually.  It’s too bright to see whether the stars are aligned, and I’m fairly sure that someone down the street is breathing.