SSDD

Depression sucks.

Same shit, different day.

I could of course, attribute my unshakable malaise by chalking it up to the horrible weather or the interminable dark that pervades this time of year.  Usually my mood improves when the holidays are over, at least a little bit, and then goes back in the toilet around mid-February until about May.

Maybe it’s because my life is pretty much lived stuffing ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag.  The worst part of that is that it’s usually ten pounds of other people’s shit that I allow to be unloaded on me.

despair corners

The sucky part of that is that one of my closest friends (who I really need to have a nice, long conversation with again, and sometime soon) once told me that life boils down to what you cause and what you allow.  I allow other people’s dumb shit to go on and on without telling them to piss off, and that’s my own damned fault.  I hear a lot of bitching through the course of a day, and a lot of it is in regard to things that either I can’t control or can’t change.  Hearing all that day in and day out tends to make me feel pretty discouraged and hopeless.

Then I go home and get to hear Jerry bitch about things that he should just deal with himself if they bother him that much.  This is the same guy who has no problem spotting shit or puke or some unfortunate object that Lucy has reduced to smithereens- but who does have nine kinds of excuses for why he can’t clean it up.

clean poop

Really? I so need this amazing shit-shoveling gnome in my house!

That, and my left arm is killing me right around the place where I broke it.  I think that might be because of the cold (it’s a balmy 1°F out there today) and low barometer, but it hurts something fierce today.  I dug out the big black brace I had to use for awhile after they took my cast off, and put it on, which seems to help.   Then there’s always the gift that keeps on giving- all my joints are rather creaky and stiff today- thanks to the lingering repercussions of rheumatic fever.   The good news is that I was one of about three people in the pool this morning.  I’d be much worse off today, at least as far as mobility goes, had I not gone to the pool.  The pool, opposed to the outside world, is usually somewhere around 80°, which is quite nice.

fantasy pool

If money were no object, this would be my personal indoor pool.

pool boy

And here would be a suitable personal pool boy.

Maybe not so blond, but the bod is right on.  Nice pecs.

It would be a total blast to lounge about in a lovely pool surrounded by buff young dudes, if I had the means, but as the old saying goes, “Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.”

Of course the fantasy would only be complete if I could have a big screen TV in my pool room showing Journey’s Greatest Hits Live 1981:

journey greatest hits 1981

Play ALL.  All night long.

Believe it or not, I’ve actually done a fairly decent job of cheering myself up. For now.

Please, Lord, don’t let me come home to a massive debris field left in the wake of the “Mouth of the South” (aka Lucy) because Jerry was too lazy to put the dogs back in their crates after lunch…

Or to a to-do list of Jerry’s errands to be ran (outside of course,) in sub-zero temperatures…

Give a poor white woman a break for a change, eh?  A quiet night with maybe a few military documentaries, or even a showing of Hot Fuzz or Super Troopers?  It doesn’t even have to be a cop-themed movie- Borat would do just fine… something funny, something light?