2:48 p.m. - 2002-04-14
Yes, I Am Wilfully Depressed!
I've had a piss-poor week and I'm in a mood to match. Man, have I been cranky these last few days! This started last week, I think because I seem to be allergic to something Southern. I never had allergies Up North, but down here as soon as April starts I react to...something. Bruce thinks it's pine pollen. I think it's everything.
So I've spent the week feeling achey and stuffed up and as though I'm swimming in an ocean of molasses and everything I attempt to do turns into an amazing mess. On top of this I had a huge snit out with our insurance agent because they messed up our renter's insurance policy so bad that we now actually don't have renter's insurance. They couldn't seem to figure out why this might vaguely upset us.
Grrrrr. I am just furious about it. Even now just thinking about it makes me start gnashing my teeth. It's situations like this that make me feel that perhaps it might be fun to be a vampire so that I could rid the world of greedy politicians, pedophile priests, and incompetent insurance agents.
So as the days went by all of this snowballed into my just being really depressed. By Friday night I had myself worked up into such a state that poor Bruce had not a snowball's chance in Hell of cheering me out of it. He tried, poor man. First he brought home pizza, because I said I wanted pizza. But by the time he got home I didn't want pizza anymore, I wanted to go out to dinner so that I could be morose in public. But first I wanted to lie around and contemplate what an abysmally untalented artist I am, and how my work is so bad it should all be put in a cheap plywood coffin and buried, or better yet dumped in the ocean so it would suffer immediate water damage to lessen the chances that anyone would ever set eyes on it.
From there I started thinking how totally useless I am in general. Did you know I am really totally useless? Bruce had to jolly me through such gems as: "I'm like a tiny stone that doesn't make a ripple when you throw it in the water" and "I'm researching all my ancestors but when I die no one will care about researching me!!"
No one, but no one, can beat me at being really pathetically, stupidly depressed. It's like I channel this stuff straight from Satan.
And then I moved into the "People are starving and getting shot at in wars and I have no right to complain about my life just because I am a sadly untalented, pathetic excuse for a human being" phase and after that the truly stupid "I should just die and get it over with because trees shouldn't have to be cut down so that I can have toilet paper" phase and then the jaw-dropping "We haven't found a house to buy yet because God really hates me and wants to torture me by giving us the money for a house and then not letting us find one to buy" phase.
(I don't know why I insist on dragging God into these things. I mean, I hardly know the Guy.)
Poor Bruce just sat at the edge of the bed murmuring encouraging words and holding my feet. He knows me well enough to know that resistence is futile and, once I get into these moods the best thing to do is let me wind myself up and then down again. We never did go out to eat.
Sigh. Today I still feel really miserable but it's becoming more and more obvious that I'm physically messed up and this I can handle. I broke down and took an allergy capsule and went out and stared at the irises (purple and yellow!!) and then noticed that my spirea is about to bloom and then I came in and called Simon, which actually put me in a better mood.
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