A long time ago (in this galaxy) while I was taking a Shakespeare class in college, a friend gave me a birthday card with a picture of Garfield—dressed in Elizabethan-type garb and holding a drumstick—on the cover. It said, “To party or not to party?” Inside it said, “That is a stupid question.”
Last night my please-drown-me-in-sleep Kindle game, Thread Words, sent me an unsubtle message.
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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 →