Diagnosis
Someone told me this last week that they think i am depressed. And who wouldn't be, they said, you know, what with everything that's going on for me. But I've been thinking about it for a long time, though, and if i am depressed, it doesn't feel like it did when i was depressed before. Mostly i feel really numb and paralyzed, not so much down and desolate.
I guess, in part, the symptomology is somewhat similar - there are things i just don't want to deal with, or even just can't deal with, right now. But noone really seems to realize the differences in root causes. See this isn't sadness.
It's terror.
Sisyphus
I am getting used to having the same conversation several times over with her. With this new round of chemo, it just doesn't stick, see, the first time. For instance, I paid her taxes several weeks ago, but as late as last week I was still having to remind her that it was done. It doesn't help to be several states away. So, I have also gotten in the habit of calling all the aunts and the sister in law to double check when something doesn't add up. Together we can almost keep up with her. This is better though than those several days in a row when all (literally ALL) she does is sleep. Aunt K goes down to check in on her, just make sure she is still breathing.
The doctors don't know that this isn't my mother. Her 'levels' are good, and she's 'aware', and treatment should continue, to hopefully add a few more months to the meager months that they think we have. She apologized to me tonight, for not remembering anything. That she knows she doesn't remember somehow makes me hopeful.
I went to dinner with a friend i hadn't seen in nearly a year to catch up. And i listened to all she'd been through and it was the normal ups and downs but she's moving forward and she sounds good and then itz my turn. And i got nothing. It's the same thing over and over again for me. Why put that on anyone else?
"Oh I'm great. Things are good, you know. Just keeping on."
A Mark, a Yen, a Buck or a Pound
Working with a lot of Wall Street firms, my firm technically allows us most of the same banking holidays. I say 'technically' because in all actuality these holidays are when most of us catch up on our internal (i.e., internal to our firm) initiatives work and administrative tasks. These days, however, allow us time finally to take care of some of our own personal tasks that have been put off too long. I have a long list.
Unfortunately, i always realize with rancor, my list includes banking, such as depositing very important checks.
Oh well.
Things I'd Rather Do Than Have a Stomach Flu
- Clean out a greasetrap
- Walk on broken glass
- Housesit rabid ferrets
- Convert to scientology
- Nail my head to the floor with a rusty iron spike
This is Not My Beautiful House!
I turned 37 over the holidays. Most of my 30's didn't even phase me. Mostly because i still lived free and easy like i was still 25, only making a whole lot more money occasionally and in a bigger city. This birthday was subtly different tho. A day or two after it, I suddenly realized that i was well nigh on 40. Now, I've never thought of the 30s as 'old', but the 40s? In my head your 40s are a point in your life by which you should be respectable.
So i did what respectable people do. I bought a vintage style black leather couch and chaise. It fits quite cozy around the 47" flat screen.
Gotta start somewhere. I start with good seating and dolby surround sound.
Itz My Party & I'll Cry If I Want To...
Obligatory About Me's for the
link:- 38 year old female, living in the rapidly gentrifying East Village of NYC
- Professional Mgt and Strat consultant,
- And thus, a symptom of that very gentrification.
- But i was raised by hippies and artists...and this is where i feel at home, dammit,
- So go blow urselves when you kvetch that all the bohemians have moved to williamsburg.
- I am free and open, however i have recently learned that i have very high expectations, and sooner or later you will let me down, so itz better to not engage me romantically...
- More importantly, i have lotz of really close friends.
- I am not responsible for anyone other than myself,
- But if i like you, i will defend your honor to the death.
- And give you many spontaneous little gifts that i either make, or find on the street.
In Which I Struggle to Get Over Myself
Itz sad but i really need this wailing wall. Part of me is sick to death of the fact that i can never suffer in silence. I don't know why but i have to tell complete strangers how fucked up i feel. And man do i feel fucked up. Itz chronic, and there is no cause or reason, which is why i know itz hormonal, and chemical, and quite possibly clinical. Sad part is that this isn't part of my internal self-image. And everytime i realize how lame i actually am, it tears a hole in the fabric of my reality. I don't want to admit it, itz pathetic, but i need my online diary. OMG, i am a fuckin whiner.
I've stayed away, for various reasons, not the least of which was that i wasnt in a writing mood most of this last year. And i think that this is a tad more palatable since i let the traffic dwindle down to misguided googlers, bots and the occasional very close friend who already knows what a melodrama whore i am anyway. So, i wont have to worry about self-censorship, which is good, b/c therez only one thing more pathetic than being a fucking-whiner-melodrama-ho, and thatz caring at all about what complete strangers think.
So anyway, this space soon reopening in the name of all thatz a pathetic wank of time. Mostly b/c in all reality, if i don't vent this childish crap somewhere, i probably will kill people. Or at the very least, accidentally say some of it in public, or at work and in front of people who control my livelihood. It is very important that only the internet knows what a complete loser phreak i am.