A Saturday

Apparently, some parts of Georgia got snowfall today.  Nothing here.  Completely unfair.

One week out from my acupuncture treatment.  I've had a headache every day (but two) since.  I'm doing as much as I can with the new dietary requirements, but can't, and really don't plan to, switch over wholly.  More fruits and vegetables, not a problem.  All the fermented stuff?  A bit more problematic.  And, as much as I try, I just cannot drink the amount of water she suggested.  I'm drinking more than I used to, but not near as much as I'm "supposed to."  Did you know each person is supposed to drink, in ounces, half their body weight in water every day.  Not that 8-glasses-a-day rule.  That's outdated and uncool.

Some random sentences generated by this artist's book I'm following:

"A stitch is dropped --- the sweater won't be born."

"The fan spins clockwise, moving air around."

"From nose to knees, there's too much me, and

My eyes have darkened taking in the view."

  

And one poem:

The river to the ocean runs,

The brook becomes the sea.

The pounds stack up until they're tons,

An acorn yields a tree.

How true, some great things start out small

And never dream the day

That growth will overtake them,

And Fate will have his way.

Pretty Much My Week to This Point

You?

Temporariness

It struck me at some point over the weekend that most, if not all, of my headaches and knotted stomachs and a good deal of my depression has come from temporariness.

Since I last worked, in December, 2010, every aspect of my life has been unsettled.  My mother's health.  Her death, and having to deal with the estate.  Being unable to find a job.  Problems with my children's lives.  Them moving out of the house, then in.  Finances.  All of these issues have been ongoing, without any ends in sight.  I've been saying that it feels as though my life has flown apart into pieces, and those pieces are just circling my head.  I can't catch any of them and put them to rest.  Or think clearly enough for long enough to try and make sense of them.  My life has been, still is, up in the air.

And although I still have no idea how to deal with all of it, it's comforting to understand it a little more.

Blah

Wow --- a week later.  There was a time when I could/would post every other day.  Are blogs going out of style?  Is it tumblr or nothing these days?

Not that I've had any earth-shattering news to report.  When you are clinically depressed and chronically unemployed, days pretty much run together as blurs of nothing getting done.

We did buy our Christmas tree.  A beautiful, big, fat one.  But I haven't drug myself up the stairs to pull the decorations out of Hannah's closet.  Must get the lights on it tomorrow, though.  Simply must.

Yawn

So, being both unemployed and chronically depressed leads to a dearth of blog material.  There simply isn't that much going on.

I still spend at least an hour a day combing through want ads and applying for jobs.

There's a good degree of sleeping going on --- sleep being my drugged state of choice when the cave I'm in is extra-inky-black.

I am knitting.  In fact, I'm working on a bulk etsy order at the moment.  And the knitting group continues, though one member has dropped completely off the map for reasons no one can fathom.

Briton is a hit in his current show, "See How They Run."

Hannah has had her hair dyed an almost blinding pink.

I'm watching a lot of  "The West Wing."

So, move along now.  Nothing to see here.

Sixes and Sevens

I like jigsaw puzzles.  Except when my life is one, and pieces seem to have been blown off the table after I was just getting going good on putting the damn thing together.

Looking for the pieces would take energy and focus, and maybe even a hint of concern.

It was beginning to look like a nice picture --- one with radiance and warmth and hope and even a little happiness.  But now the pieces are all over.  Everywhere.  Some may be gone for good.  Do I try, as best I can, to search out those wandering pieces, and put the puzzle together, saying the holes in it "give it 'character'?"  Or do I start an all-together different puzzle, fresh out of the box?

Or do I abandon puzzles.

Circle in a Spiral

Like any disease, once you are diagnosed with severe chronic depression, you learn the warning signs.  Those clues that your body gives you that say, "There's a storm a-comin'."  Mine, for all these years, was simply wanting to sleep all the time.  Or, at the very least, stay in bed all the time.  When I would get to that point, I knew it was time for a medication change or a dosage tweak.

In the past month or so, however, my depression has become genuinely physical.  I feel it crushing me from all sides.  My body aches from it, and the only relief I can find is lying down.  Not sleeping, necessarily, but getting off my feet.  Horizontal has been my only comfort.

All that to say that depression is insidious.  It drains you of joy.  It steals your energy.  It wreaks havoc on your will.  It is easiest to stay inside your house because you don't have to make an effort to shower, or get dressed, or have a conversation.  And so you stay home for more and more days, and your interest in going out ebbs away, which fuels the depression, which forces you back into yourself. . .  You can see where this is going.

A couple of months back, my therapist gave me the assignment of getting out of my house every day.  Every day, do something that would get me up and headed somewhere.  I did okay for a while.  Until I ran slap out of ideas of places to go.

So, my therapist suggested finding a volunteer opportunity, or a group or club that I could get involved with.  She even suggested a website where I might find areas of interest: Meetup.com.  Dutifully, I checked out the site, found nothing that grabbed me, and then did something that, even now, shocks me.

I decided to start a group of my own.  A knitting group, naturally.  And we have our first meeting next week.  Eight people have "signed up," which is about seven more than I had expected.  And I'm looking forward to it.   

Totally Overwhelmed

Is it still Tuesday?  I got up at 3 AM, drove to Nashville, walked into my parents' house, and discovered mice.  Everywhere.  So I had to call an exterminator.  Before I even set in on cleaning up and out a little.  Which I've done on and off all day --- I've just about run out of places to put the trash.  And you can't tell I've even been in any of these rooms.

I think this may be a job too big for me.  So, then what do I do?

Both Photos Stolen from Buzzfeed (But Befitting My Life at Present)

This cat wonders what the hell my deal has been lately,

but

I just don't want to talk about it right now, OK?

Lethargy

Hebetude.  Lassitude.  They've all settled in at Chez Dean, and the animals and I are helpless to take up arms against them.  We're all just rather lying about, shuffling from room to room only when absolutely necessary.

And yet, despite the torpor, I finished the other "beach" sock, wrapped up a Noro scarf I had also been working on at the beach, and finished Gentlemen and Players (which contained quite a twist, let me tell you.)  I'll be casting on a dishcloth at some point today, and have already begun the "I" book: John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany, which I began once, but did not finish.