“I’ve driven women to lesbianism before, but never to a mental institution.”

kittens wrapped in a blanket

I’ve draped myself in the comforting blanket of music, of late.  It’s gently healing the many wounds I’ve acquired on my journey so far.  In this pleasant space, I’m building a better survival strategy for when The New and Improved Depression Monster (TNAIDM) ambushes me in the future.  I’ve acknowledged how it affects me; out damn pride.  First to go is my wit.  I cannot rely on my keen mind when stapled to the floor.

woman listening to music

I don’t know how TNAIDM steals my intellect and rationality, but the evidence is overwhelming.  I must plan accordingly.  My inner gamer sees this as a challenge.  There are no walk-through videos to study on YouTube.  No strategy guides on message boards.  Only me, my presently uncompromised wit, and my shelter of music.  Challenge accepted.  Victory awaits.

Today, this blanket consists solely of music by Sheryl Crow.  As I listen and sing along, the lyrics reach me.  My strength and resolve rebuild.  My focus broadens, and my sorrows fade.  I remember who I am and embrace the biggest picture I’m able to perceive.  I’m stardust floating through space.  Soon, my minute of life will end, and what remains will drift on with the expansion of the universe.

All my pain is insignificant from this perspective.  I can breathe.  I can even laugh over the concerns that leveled me yesterday.  They fail to weigh me down when I zoom out and allow myself to float.  Snapshot.  Save.  Remember.  💜

 

“I think we all would have been a lot happier if they hadn’t landed a man on the moon.”

tickets

I know.  (Head suddenly too heavy to hold up)  What the hell, Alison?  I’m sorry.  I’ll get my shit together straight away, and get back in sync with the blogosphere, as soon as I finish this one thing.  For, today is the day M printed out the concert tickets.  (I know I said it weird, but it’s to signify this epic event.)  Yep.  We print out our tickets; we’re so old.  😂

freaking jubilant

Besides, I wanted something I can sleep with hold until it’s time.  So did the young woman we’re chaperoning to the Beyoncè show.  She (17) makes me feel a lot more secure in my reaction, (which consists of me nearly freaking out.)  We keep texting each other reminders that The Carter’s do not tolerate *lickspittles, to stay calm.  (*My new favorite word, isn’t it fabulous?  Thanks, George.)

I’m freaking jubilant.  I decided to give my brain the rest of the day off for good behavior.  I’ll likely spend what remains of it jumping up and down while listening to music.  Yay.  Here I go.  💜