You got a problem with paba?

The Depression Monster is kicking my ass.  I’m doing surprisingly well, despite.  Well, in that I’m too numb for it to touch my spirit.  The buffer has always existed, but it’s only recently occurred why.  I’m delighted by this new insight.  I’ve decided to accept it without analyzing it (to death.)  My understanding is enough.  How rare.  But I don’t dare linger here.  The brain zaps from Prozac withdrawal are happening every few moments, now.  It feels a lot like being excessively high on cannabis.  It’s almost out of me forever.  Yay.

I’m glad I went on the marijuana tour last year, or this would probably freak me out.  (Okay, definitely.)  I was awed by the amount of weed I was able to consume without consequences during the tour.  I watched the younger tourists consume far more simultaneously, also without repercussion.  It had the intended effect of eliminating rote fears.  Something about cannabis works the same way Prozac does on my brain.  Does this mean I’m going to replace Prozac with pot?  Nope.   😂  Fuck drugs.

While I had no compunction with legally consuming in the past, I’ve grown since.  People who were off my radar then are now present in my world, and their influence is intense.  I could legally smoke a joint in front of both Michelle Obama and Lisa Bloom (my imaginary personal life coaches) without feeling like I was hovering over a pit of doom.  I couldn’t do it in front of  Stevie Nicks, though.  I can’t even do it knowing Stevie Nicks exists.  So here we are.  Post pot life.  I’m glad I experimented, but fuck feeling like I’m hovering over a pit of doom just to get high.

It’s not even ironic.  Stevie Nicks specifically said to avoid cocaine, bourbon, and weed because she used the hell out of them, and it almost killed her.  She added Klonopin to the list of never do’s, too, stating it was the worst of them.  Through watching her documentary DVD’s and the interviews on YouTube, I learned of this dark chapter of her story.  It made me grieve for what she endured.  (That’s the only part that didn’t surprise me.  😂)   Do as I learned, not as I did before learning.  That’s fucking powerful.  I’m amazed by this turn of events, but not upset.

I’m pretty confident I was born high enough.  I don’t need mood altering substances to tease reality.  I can just read a Stephen King novel.  Or Clive Barker, who is rapidly gaining my loyalty as a reader.  I abandoned Tess of d’Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy quickly, and read Duma Key by Stephen King, instead.  If you’re an artist, read Duma Key.  You’re welcome.  (It’s an excellent story, regardless.)  I’m done reading fiction that centers on women as victims.  I’m basically abstaining from the Lifetime Channel variety of novels forever.  ‘Cuz holy shit.  It’s like forced empathy training for sociopaths, (as if that would work.)

What?  Your novel is about a woman who got raped?  (Visualize me running away, screaming “Fuck!”)  I don’t even watch TV anymore.  I have four TV’s, two of which are newer 4k LG’s with HDR.  I’m going to give away the other two.  The new ones are still useful for movies and video games.  And to watch Will and Grace when it starts, of course.  My other show, Better Things, I buy to stream via Amazon.  I’m going to give away my Fire TV, too, since I just realized I haven’t used it since I set it up a year ago.  Oops.  Roku made it redundant.  I haven’t even looked at the Apple 4k whatever.  I’m good.

I need to give away my excess computers, too.  My house AI can stay once I adjust her, but all the single card computers can go.  I don’t need to know the humidity level of my bedroom while I’m  sleeping, for starters.  I regret I’ve crossed the line between smart home and smart ass home.  Sigh.  I thought I would love it, but it turns out I find it incredibly annoying between the hours of 2 and 4 AM.  Even Wanda Sykes couldn’t make me laugh during that time…  On second thought, she probably could.  😂  But until she shows up to try, I’ll be sleeping during those hours.  I’m off to debug de-feature.

Open the package, Leo.

Saying, I told you so, is not as satisfying when you’re talking to yourself.  At least I can say I saw this coming.  I’m burned out.  I felt inclined to push it because I suspect my social endurance has increased.  It has, but not by as much as I was hoping.  Everything I do right now takes an inordinate amount of effort.  It’s irking me.  I don’t want to waste an unpredictable amount of time in slug mode.  Slug mode sucks.  I had things I wanted to do, and now I have to turn my routine upside down, and focus on getting out of slug mode.  Dammit.

I just got a new video game.  My new desk will be arriving next week, and I wanted to work on getting that set up.  Just the thought of unboxing it seems impossible right now.  I’m only halfway done with my laundry, and the idea of finishing before I go to bed makes me want to cry.  But if I don’t finish it, I won’t be able to sleep.  I’ll be too busy mentally chastising myself for not finishing my chores.  That path leads to the Dark Side.  So I’m going to give myself 3 hours.  In 3 hours, I can finish my laundry, while listening to a comedian on Netflix.  Hm. No, I think I better bring out the big guns.  The secret weapon in my Fuck the Depression Monster arsenal.  I’m going to watch Wanda Sykes: I’ma Be Me on DVD, while I finish my laundry.

I’ve had this DVD since it came out, but I’ve been saving it for a moment like this.  I tend to memorize dialogue I pay attention to, so I rarely watch it.  This will be my third viewing, and it came out in 2009.  The first time I saw it on HBO, I laughed so hard, I threw up.  Gross, I know.  You know how when you’re laughing your ass off for a while, and wiping away tears, you start getting a bit hoarse?  You feel like a little kid begging your older sibling for mercy after they’ve tickled you for too long.  And just when you feel yourself finally starting to wind down, here comes another something hilarious, and you cough out your next laugh?  Well that happened, but it must have been extra hilarious, because I cough-barfed.  Not one of my more glamorous moments, to be sure.  It’s. That. Funny.

So I guess I’ll accept that regardless of my feeling like a bag of pre-chewed food right now, as soon as I find the gumption to turn on the TV and pop in this DVD, I’ll forget how much being Autistic feels like having to carry a radioactive boulder every time I leave my home.  It drains me of life, and seemingly gets heavier and more intense the longer I’m gone.  Sometimes.  Okay.  Off I go.  As soon as I count to 10.  If I get to 11, it will mean I’m giving in.  I won’t get to 11.

Laughing It Off

It dipped into the frost range last night.  Well, this morning.  It’s currently 34 degrees F.  It’s going up to 55 later.  Our state population doubles today as the hunters come to hunt pheasant.  Sometimes I go to the airport and watch them land and gather their gear.  But not today.  We have a spa here that just got sensory deprivation pods.  They have more salt than the dead sea, so you allegedly float while either in darkness, or with soothing lights and relaxing music for an hour.  Black people tend to have denser bones, so I’m not sure I would float.  I know in a regular pool I don’t.

It doesn’t stop me from swimming, though.  I enjoy it.  I will have my apartment back to myself later today.  I like having my nephew here, but I don’t like when it breaks my schedule.  He kept talking to me when I was coding.  But he did call tech support for an issue I was having with my virtual server.  I’m thankful for him doing that.  It has to be pretty much life and death for me to initiate a phone call.  And even then, my voice usually disappears from the anxiety.  I don’t usually answer the phone either, because I have the ringer turned down as low as possible on all handsets, and if the caller knows me, they know better than to call.

I like watching the news at 5 AM because the weather man is a total smartass.  The anchor woman was in a commercial talking about how everyone gets along so well, and then the camera moved to him sitting beside her, and he said, “We hate her”.  I sprayed my water and had a coughing fit as I didn’t see that coming.  Another one shows him in footed pajamas, interrupting a segment to announce McDonald’s now serves breakfast all day, while eating an Egg McMuffin.  One of my brothers used to work there so I was already biased.  He says funny stuff a lot but you have to pay attention because he deadpans it.  I didn’t get deadpan humor until I saw Aubrey Plaza in Funny People.  I’m the only one I know who thought that movie was hilarious and charming.

I also really liked Identity Thief, and This is Where I Leave You.  I woke myself up from laughing at a joke from that movie that came up in my dreams.  I wake myself up laughing a lot.  It’s because I have PTSD, which manifests mainly as depression and anxiety.  Depression sucks so I have a super plan for preventing it.  Exercise + low carb no junk diet + Prozac + videos of stand up comedians + videos of laughing babies = a happy person who you’d never realize has an issue with depression.  If I skip a run, or eat crap (cheetos, fast food, etc) it has a negative effect quickly.

I’ve messed up when I couldn’t work up the courage to go grocery shopping, and instead ordered a large pizza, and ate it for every meal for 3 days in a row.  It killed my motivation to run even though I love it, and then my sensitivity went up in direct relation to my ability to communicate going down.  Boy did I pay for that mistake.  I have a depression box for emergencies.  Sometimes, for no apparent reason, my mood plummets seemingly instantly.  It’s like a punch in the gut.  When that happens, I grab the box and start battling, even though I don’t want to do so.  I have rules.  No naps, no pity parties, and use the depression box if necessary because it works if I do.

Inside is a round lidded container in which I put paper strips with activities on them.  I draw one, and then do it.  They are things like create a song, design a quilt, play violin to the cows, etc.  Creative things I enjoy doing that keep me distracted for a while.  If it’s really bad, I have a secret weapon.  My DVD of Wanda Sykes: I’ma Be Me.  That DVD is to comedy what morphine is to a skinned knee.  I don’t use it very often.  It’s been about a year since I last saw it.  This is a good thing.  The first time I watched it, I laughed so hard I threw up.  Gross, I know.  But I laughed at myself, cleaned up, and went back to watch the rest. That hadn’t happened since I was a kid laughing at my brother, and getting sent to eat in the garage.  I had a tray table and lawn chair set up in anticipation of it happening.  I spent many suppers eating in the garage between bursts of laughter.  Steve would come out to the garage after he finished eating and start up again with his hilarious antics.  We were the only house in the neighborhood where the kids got in trouble for laughing too hard.

I have such fond memories from it.  It’s usually what causes me to wake myself up from laughing.  The weather guy just imitated the Trololo guy in the middle of the weather forecast.  😂