Crying Over Lost Soap

“It seemed to take the most colossal effort to do simple things. I remember bursting into tears because I had used up the cake of soap that was in the shower. I cried because one of the keys stuck for a second on my computer. I found everything excruciatingly difficult, and so, for example, the prospect of lifting the telephone receiver seemed to me like bench-pressing four hundred pounds. The reality that I had to put on not just one but two socks and then two shoes so overwhelmed me that I wanted to go back to bed.” ~ Andrew Solomon

“If there is one thing I can pass on from my humbling experiences in life, thus far, I will tell you this, the next time someone tells you “the absence of expectations is the absence of disappointment, do not listen. Have expectations. Keep them great. It’ll be a very bumpy ride. You’ll even get bruised, sometimes very badly. Sometimes, you’ll come to an abrupt halt or even fall off your ride. But you’ll grow. And if you do not grow, you do not live.” ~ Pandora Poikilos

“To wage war on depression is to fight against oneself, and it is important to know that in advance of the battles.” ~ Andrew Solomon

The title of this post and the first quote go hand in hand. On Sunday mornings I always feel the depression more strongly than I do on any other given day. Call it a head start, yet usually no more than static noise in the background. Then on some Sundays, somehow, the volume gets cranked up, background noise becomes a dull roar, white noise turns gray, sometimes dark gray. On a scale of 0-10 today is about a ‘4’, give or take. Boy howdy would it ever be fun to write lyrically about depression this morning, to lay bare the beast, under the pompous light of the morning Sun, and wean it on pretty stories and pop-psych aphorisms. Never mind that! No, it is not so bad this morning, but like the author of the first quote there are days when I could cry over lost soap, then retire to my chair, all downhearted and stuff, summon the cat to my lap with a pssst, find something intellectual to read on the internet, lest I should be so lucky as to actually ground myself, pour a goblet of IPA, read some then turn on Netflix, tune into Star Trek NextGen to re-establish my connection with Lieutenant Data, after all of which I simply unwrap another bar of soap, all the while reminding myself that stupid me totally forgot that there is also a bottle of body wash in the shower, but I dare not use it because it too might be on the verge of empty. But today is not that bad. My rational abilities remain intact. I rarely feel like going back to bed, so that is of no concern. See, yesterday was a difficult day out in the peopled world. I got beat down by untripped hairpin triggers, and impatience cranked up to near-critical level. I was depressed by the time I left work. Driving home with vestiges of sunset still in the sky was oddly soothing. Darkness was descending, and I knew that stars and Moon would soon break darkness’ spell of completeness. This morning’s depression is mere leftovers. I did not intend to write about depression today, but here ya have it. My intent was to write casually about romance and relationships. Maybe some other day. Geez Louise, I musta been having a nice dream about someone, and I know who it is. That changes nothing. Inspiration is inspiration.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

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