Here it is, day 8, and these are my feelings about IF: it might be for the birds.
Any program that causes me to constantly think about a subject I loathe, viz. food, is not exactly right for me. (Long ago I saw an episode of Happy Days wherein Fonzie told Ralph Malph that he should join the French Foreign Legion. Ralph was all set up to set off; no one else could talk him out of it. Finally Richie persuaded Fonzie to tell Ralph he was wrong to advise Ralph so. Fonzie RELUCTANTLY agreed, but every time he tried to tell Ralph he’d been wrong he could only say, “I was ruh-ruh-ruh.” Eventually he said, “I was Not Exactly Right.” Henceforth the phrase not exactly right is code in my home for ruh-ruh-ruh.) Read More →
I do a lot of journaling in snatches these days. This was last night’s effort (even though it bears today’s date).
journal girl 5 Dec 2017
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“We but half express ourselves,
and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents.”
(from “Self Reliance” by Ralph Waldo Emerson)
A week-and-a-half ago I wrote a post I could have called I Am a Writer, and said how I anticipated that embracing that fact would . . . well . . . make all my wildest dreams come true; the main wild dream being to escape immobilizing depression.
I mean, really, don’t you get sick of fighting it EV–ER–Y day?
Apparently writing isn’t the omni-cure I had hoped it would be. (It has its depressing side too.)
The other day I was skimming through my daily feed (think about that term for half a tick: “daily feed”) on Facebook. and saw a lovely face. She’s a painted drawing by Katie Kendrick, friend-and-artist (whose classes I’ve taken).
painted drawing by Katie Kendrick
(25 Feb 2017)
Something about her delicacy, wistfulness, the hint of wind (maybe she has a windswept mind as well) . . . . Also, the glints of light—particularly the one in her bouquet—said something to me. “Whispering Hope,” maybe. I liked her and made inquiries. Katie meant to paint her, but I was graciously granted permission to purchase her as is. Read More →
A place to write, a stack of scratch paper, and a cupful of pens (and a dog–Polly in this case)
So, I have a theory.
A few theories.
This past year is probably the most difficult I’ve gone through since I was diagnosed with depression.
Summary: Twenty years ago, I tried meds. They helped for a few months, then turned on me (which is not the same as Timothy Leary’s recommendation to be turned on by drugs; depressive episodes often result in my dropping out of just about everything though, so maybe they’re related after all). After the drugs went south, I got some alternative and effective help. For many years I lived a life almost free of the disease. But like cancer—does it really go away? In the past decade I gradually became accustomed to summer SAD, then autumn SAD, holiday SAD, Spring SAD. This year it was finally difficult to find a significant number of SAD-free hours almost every day.
It’s important to keep busy. Read More →