When You Try To…

Seek some form of right-mindedness or feeling of normalcy from binge watching a favorite tv show, New Girl is a definite no-go.


Depression is one hell of a roller coaster ride. Saturday came along, and I finally convinced myself to clean my house. Well, at least half-way cleaned my house. I started having a breakdown around 5pm, sobbed as I ate a 2 day old taco, not because I was hungry but because I just needed to eat something, bought three 24 oz cheap beers, downed them so I got a little drunk, and watched New Girl until I passed out next to my dog in her bed sometime between 9p and 11p.

My friend and roommate came home. I heard her rustling around and I woke up, puked in the toilet, cried to her about my dog’s possible IVDD until about 1am, all the while asking “who cries like this over a dog?” (I am very overwhelmed with all of the financial aspects of this that I cannot afford.) Then I went out and bought a frozen pizza, ate about a slice, canceled plans I had with my friend on Sunday, and went to sleep until 1:16p. I woke up, forced myself into the shower, wandered about the house in my underwear while I finished the rest of my pizza, and somehow managed to get dressed and get myself to work.

Today is Monday, and I managed to get out of bed at 11a. I am proud of myself for that. My friend cooked for me and made coffee, which I very much appreciate, and it helps out so much in times like this. The shower I took felt a little less forced than yesterday, which is good. I even feel like taking some vitamins today- fish oil and vitamin D, because maybe it’ll help… or at least maybe I can convince myself it’s helping.

Depression is one hell of a roller coaster ride. And I have this theory that my family is meant to falter, as if these overbearing mental health problems are in my bloodline, and we are all just set up to constantly fall on our asses. Never really obtaining our deepest wants or needs in life. Never making it to the top.

But I’ll get there…

I am getting there…

New Girl didn’t help solve any of my problems, but I woke up at 11a today.

Rice Speck

I have the day off from my soul crushing job today (it’s really not that bad, it’s just not writing.) Had an appointment thing mid-morning, came home, ate, took a shit, meditated, and now it’s been time to sit down and write since like 3:30.

And here I am, staring at my screen, obsessing about the piece of yellow rice that is on my living room floor. I vacuum just about every day, rarely ever going more than 2 days without doing so. I have no idea where the rice came from or how long it has been there. How long have I missed it while sweeping? Was it lodged in some corner or crack, and is just now suddenly appearing? Did my cat or dog find it and attempt to eat it?

Because the history of this rice speck is sooo fucking important…

Now, if I vacuum the living room floor, I’ll have to vacuum all of the floors. If I vacuum all of the floors, I might as well do the handful of dishes that are in the sink. If I do the dishes, I’ll find myself wiping the kitchen counter. If I wipe the counter, I’ll have to wipe all of the surfaces, everywhere.

By that time, I’ll be thinking about bathing my cat, cleaning the hamster cage, clipping my dog’s toenails, clipping my toenails, reorganizing closets and cabinets, cleaning the litter box, dusting baseboards and blinds, windexing windows, cleaning the fan, making the bed, deep cleaning the toilet and refrigerator, and checking my cup of pens to throw way the ones that are out of ink.

Hours will pass and I’ll build up an appetite. I’ll cook, eat, and create dishes. Then I’ll have to vacuum the crumbs, wash the dishes, wipe the surfaces…

It’s best I stay right here. Talk, well apparently write, myself through this ludicrous, completely mental idea that a rice speck is actually having any sort of impact on my day. Because it’s not really about the rice speck, is it?

Perhaps it’s about fear or intimidation or doubt. Perhaps it’s about having to do something that can, at times be relatively challenging, while the rest of my days are filled with tasks that are rather simple.  Perhaps it’s something a little more mental than all of that.

But it doesn’t really matter….

In fact, I can get up, throw it in the garbage, come right back to this desk, and get to work on what I always say is one of the most important things in my life- what I claim is my passion.

Or I can sit here, keep myself fixated on it, while simultaneously yelling at myself “just write, asshole”, accomplish absolutely nothing, and then lie awake tonight thinking about how I wasted my time today.

I think I’ll just throw away the rice speck…