“He’s even curtailed his auto-erotic activities.”

Woman reading the news and shouting, "That baby was mowing the damn lawn!"

I need to stop reading the news.  It’s killing me.  I don’t know how I slid back into my old habit of perusing and cross-checking multiple sources online a few times a day.  It doesn’t matter.  I need to refrain entirely for a while.  I looked at my face in the mirror today.  I’m not very visually oriented, probably because my vision sucks.  I usually glance without seeing, but today, I saw.

I look like I haven’t slept in a few days.  I’m dehydrated, nauseated, and depressed.  I’m also excited about upcoming concerts, hella resilient, and an expert at functioning despite discomfort and despair.  I sometimes wish I could find solace in sleep at these times, but it’s no friend of mine.  Instead, I must push myself to engage in specific activities until the issue resolves.  Fortunately, I’ve had lots of practice.

It used to frighten me whenever I felt this way.  I resent how long it took me to overcome the fear.  Now, it annoys me at most.  I’m usually reasonably good at training my brain to do what I want, but sometimes, I need lots of repetition before it clicks.  Fighting off depression is one of those times.  It took a long time to train myself never to presume humanity in others.  It was painful to learn, but not nearly as much as not knowing better.

I forced myself to practice my drums earlier.  I love to play, but when I’m depressed, it’s incredibly difficult to make myself do it.  I had fun, just as I knew I would.  There’s a new mix of Solo by Clean Bandit, ft. Demi Lovato.  I hated it the first time I heard it, but when I accidentally played it again, I discovered I love it.  I also enjoyed drumming to Ghost by Jaden Smith.  depression

I’m rehydrating so that I can hit the treadmill later.  Running in place is remarkably helpful when I’m so low.  I used to be able to throw a pity party and wallow a bit before I fought my way out from under a mountain of despair.  Eventually, I reached a point where I recognized feeling sorry for myself is also hysterically funny, which ruined it.  Heh.  (Pretending Wanda Sykes and Jerry Seinfeld were riffing off my negative thoughts did the trick.)

Now I work it out as quickly as possible and get back to my life.  I slept beneath my weighted blanket last night.  It felt like cold water and central air after crossing a desert.  M is out of town with his cousins, geeking out over the world cup.  They were astonished I can’t name a single team and wasn’t confident which sport.  I told them I enjoy watching sports exactly as much as they enjoy listening to me talk about AI.  I’m a wee bit embarrassed to report they grokked that immediately.  😂  (Noted.)

It was hot yesterday; my pink Puma’s melted.  I thought I stepped in some gum or something.  Then I realized the soles of my shoes were sticking to the concrete and melting off.  They were old enough the white treads were turning a bit yellow, but damn.  So I threw them away and ordered a new pair.  (I have a one out, one in policy with most things now.)  New shoes are almost as mighty against depression as viewing I’ma Be Me by Wanda Sykes.  🙃 💜

 

Puma sneakers