So the blogging, she has been very light and infrequent, which I am totally sorry about, not only for anyone who’s checked back here fruitlessly several times in the past month (I recommend using a feed reader to save yourself some clicking), but also because I miss blogging. I like it. Even though I don’t have my new camera’s software downloaded onto the laptop (I dunno what the hell I did with the CD and manual that arrived with the camera but they’re gone and I haven’t had the energy to do really hard things like downloading the software from the company website), I could still tell amusing (maybe) stories about Simone’s butt.
But not having gotten my act together for the camera, it’s kind of an encapsulation of why I’m not blogging. Right now it’s taking all my energy to hold on and keep getting to my job and keep up my end on the housework (which I am also not doing a great job of) and the marriage and the cats. I am barely making it to yoga once a week, never mind voluntary things like getting up early in the mornings to write or getting it together to get the camera installed already.
Not writing is particularly sucky, because I actually have a fiction project in mind that I want to get into already, but somehow it takes everything I’ve got to keep analyzing and tweaking and optimizing for work instead of spending all day sobbing in the bathroom (I’m getting some assistance from Pedro the Lion – I Can. Not. Stop. listening to his melancholy pop songs about god. Plus he is a good lyricist, which I am always a big sucker for. Sad boys writing catching songs! Yay!)
There’s nothing obviously wrong in my life that needs to be fixed and about a zillion things I could point a finger at that could be causing the crazy – hormonal birth control, shorter days with less light, the economy, the election – and that’s just a small sample of the crap I worry about. I swear I have more wrinkles than I did this summer. This Onion article pretty much describes the way I feel all the time. Heh.
To sum up: I am crazed with anxiety, the cause is most likely biological, I don’t have a great deal of faith in meds – they do some of the heavy lifting but they’ve got serious side effects (I’m still taking them, though, don’t worry, I haven’t pulled one of those stunning logical leaps which says, “I still feel crappy despite these drugs so why am I taking them?” to which the obvious answer for the non-crazy is, “you’d be even moar cuh-razee if you stopped taking them” – all I can say is that it’s hard to think that clearly when you’re at the bottom of a well and can’t find the ladder.) Plus for me it’s really roller-coaster-y, so sometimes I’m at the bottom of the well and sometimes I’m like, “what well? Isn’t sunshine great?” and then I fall in and break a leg on the way down, oops.
Okay, so everyone reading this is probably freaked out by now, and you don’t need to be: it sucks to deal with this but it’s nothing new to me. Probably for my whole life I’ll be dealing with inexplicable periods of time where life seems not worth living. (Okay, that didn’t come out reassuring like I meant it to be.) What I am trying to say is that I’ve dealt with this before, lots and lots, and it sucks a whole big bunch but it never lasts forever and – on balance - I spend the minority of my time feeling this way, not the majority, and besides the meds I have lots of coping tools – yoga and therapy and Dave and emailing friends and hey, blogging, plus knowing that I’ve been here before – which helps a lot with perspective. And the cats.
Never underestimate the power of a serenely purring cat. Just knowing, while I’m at work all day, that there are four furry darlings waiting at home to give me nose kisses and get scritches and purr and purr and whine for food and knock shit over and bite me and run and jump and play, fatly or diabetically or kittenishly or with an irritable bowel (depending on the cat) – it helps.
my favorite pedro the lion song, which is actually not about god at all, I don't think