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2001-10-16 I can be sure that I'm depressed when I think about writing poetry. I was coming home from somewhere last week; I don't remember where. I also don't remember the line of poetry in particular now; it was something about the darkness of the soul or the cool surcease of pain by the gracious numbness of sleep or something appropriately bleak. Whatever it was, it cost me a Goth Clich� Point for merely thinking it. (If I can remember it, I may still write it down, because it was a great line. And I'm nothing if not a sucker for a clever phrase.) I had to laugh at myself for being so obvious. But the point is, sometime this past week, a weight lifted. I can't pinpoint when, exactly...maybe Thursday, which was certainly a verbose day on my Weblog. But I think for the first time in a while I was actually looking forward to weekend plans, leaving the house, seeing people. I realize this is something that I haven't felt since the terrorist attack and our cancelled vacation. While it was quick, it wasn't the sudden "Things are in color again" feeling I've had before; just a sudden realization that maybe there was something more I wanted to do besides sit in my chair. Of course, I can't just run with this feeling. I have to analyze it to death. Am I just in denial and trying to "get over it?" Would it be a bad thing if I were? Is this a temporary lift, the manic half of a depression? And if so, I want my money back. I got the irritability and distractedness, but didn't get the decreased need for sleep, the talkativeness, or the "increase in goal-directed activity". I kid a little here; Bipolar disorder is an illness, not just moodiness. But really, I'm left asking the question I seem to come back to how much is too much? When does lowercase-d depression become Capital-D Depression? When do quirky superstitions and bad habits become Obsessive-Compulsive? When is fear and paranoia no longer warranted and something I can't handle anymore? Well, there's the obvious answer: When they're too much to handle. So far I don't have more than I can do. I've even got friends and family and a boyfriend who have been there to help if I needed it. So I'm OK. * * * So, like I said, there were a lot of things happening this weekend which I'd been anticipating. The week was surprisingly busy for having a couple days of chaos thrown into it. Friday found me leaving a little early (though still shooed out by our group's manager) and trudging home in our Indian Summer for a late lunch. With the heat fading and the air still, it was a great night to wander around. The Roommate and I walked to a birthday event for a friend from work. Now, he may have been tipsy when we arrived, but he wasn't unusually so. But he was so ebullient that I'd shown up at all, that I started to feel a little self conscious. I do tend to shy away from social events, but I didn't know my appearance was such a rare commodity. By the time the four-person drink was finished, our host was repeating himself happily ("This is the best birthday I've ever had!") He was off for three weeks of vacation, so I was glad to see them start off so nicely for him. The Roommate and I had Sushi night, and then for shits and giggles went down to the Hole in the Wall, my old hangout many years ago. Billed as a nasty little Biker Bar, it was a regular hangout for me when I was single and on the prowl; while it was popular it's also unpretentious. I felt at home with the punks and freaks and biker daddies, and it was a good, kinky, testosterone-heavy but easy-going environment. It was pretty empty when we arrived, late on a Friday. But the music was good (spun, like when I was a regular, by local Fag Rock DJ Don Baird), the drinks were strong, the other people in bar interesting enough to watch but not so weird as to frighten the horses. It was a good night out; I forget that I used to enjoy the nightlife for nightlife's sake. Saturday night the Boyfriend made plans for us, which was good; after the past couple of weekends when we had no plans, nothing happened. We ate at one of his favorite pizza places and saw the Old 97's in concert, who weren't my cup of tea, but weren't bad either. It felt good to be out again, and to be with him for a while. I think a Sunday morning with him and the paper did as much or more to improve my mood, actually. I'm also trying to pretend that my birthday isn't coming up shortly. Not that I care about being a year older, but mostly I'm concerned that I'll have to deal with Marketing people getting me a cake or something, and having to be nice and smile. Yuck. (smirk...) So even looking at a busy week ahead, with Anthrax panics and construction all through my workplace, things seem to be getting better. At least on the inside, where it counts more.
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
