“Bodily haste and exertion usually leave our thoughts very much at the mercy of our feelings and imagination.” ~ George Elliot
Yes, I’m tired. Facing several more days of additional snow doesn’t help much. From what I can surmise in the pre-dawn darkness we’ve had 4-5″ overnight. Slog into work, over seven long miles, at a prudent low speed, but the cats have to be fed and provided with momentarily fresh cages. I say momentarily because cats don’t always get it, they seem to like the mess at times. But back to the snow. At this hour there are usually cars on the road, and I can hear them from my usual morning contemplation perch on the deck outside my front door. Not today. The silence of snow floats on the morning air, even more so profound because of the darkness. There is rare beauty in the scene but I seem not to be amused. Haggard acceptance? Not yet, there is still time. It’s the old darkness before the dawn thing. Did I tell you the coffee is excellent? It is.
I saw the doc yesterday, the psychiatrist. It’s been a long time since I called her the ‘pretty doctor lady’ but she is precisely that. These sessions seem to be mostly about meds, how they are working, what if any changes, stuff like that. But I get more out of it. It may seem sad to say but I get affirmation out of it. It’s illness, it’s real. Nearly a lifetime of struggle was all considered to be, by me, a weakness of will, a jagged character fault, a pitiful overall performance, whatever. But that is depression talking. Depression has a bad attitude. I do not. I’ve been a truth and beauty kind of guy for as long as I can remember. When sweet diagnosis came I felt like a giant sigh on two feet. Never mind that my relationship of seven years fatally crumbled the very next day. There’s your cosmic 2’x4′ right there, upside the metaphorical head. Ouch. This is where the New Age philosopher steps in and reminds me that I created it myself. Yeh, right, I got that part, k? I said ouch. Ouch was my point, but if you even try to tell me that I brought the illness on myself I will go to the ends of the earth to make sure that you are subject to a marathon screening of digitally remastered Foghorn Leghorn cartoons and you will do so until it dawns on you that you and he have much in common. And remember, my friend, you will have created it yourself. I may be mentally ill but I ain’t no friggin cartoon. Get over yourself dude. We are all in this together. Your pop-psych aphorisms do not amuse me, and they never will.
Yikes. Sorry. Started gettin’ a tad froggy there. My bad. Must be the snow. Speaking of which, I’ll have some sweeping and shoveling to do before I go to work so I had best bid all your lovely readers adieu for now.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.