Wednesday, July 10, 2013

(Six Weeks And) Ten Minutes

Reading over my last few posts, I’m beginning to see a pattern emerge…and not a very attractive one.  I’ve been crafting an image of a cranky, hostile, backward-looking malcontent; and I think I am tired of that person right now. 
Honestly, this has been kind of a tough year.  And it shouldn’t be, because nothing really bad has happened.  I know I’ve been battling with depression…don’t really know the cause.  Or maybe I do:  I am under-challenged and socially isolated, so, as is my wont, I have turned inward.
When I was exhausted and completely used up, it was vital to have time to myself to cocoon and to heal.  It took several months to recover to the point that I felt like a human being again.  But now, the isolation and the idleness are no longer a balm to an injured soul.  They are a caustic irritant.  It is bad for me to have nothing much to do and spend too much time by myself.  This was one of the original reasons we started the concession business, and ultimately bought the restaurant.  Making money was not the only or even the most important reason.  I knew that if I spent too many more months alone and isolated, I would eat myself alive. 
Unfortunately, going from 0 to 90 mph and then trying to sustain that pace for five years was not the answer, either.  And now that I have jumped off that train, once again, I’m TOO alone…TOO under-challenged.  Why is there no middle ground for me?
This afternoon, I spent several hours looking over some of my old posts from back in 2008.  I was looking for a couple of specific pieces so that I could post links on Facebook, pursuant to an article upon which I was attempting to comment.  A couple of things struck me, right between the eyes.  First of all, I was in the middle of my tenure at the Hot Flash Café…yet I somehow had the brains and the creative juju to crank out 120 posts that year.  Where the hell did I get that energy?  And why do I feel like I haven’t any left?

And then, reading the posts, I discovered that I had some interesting and important things to say.  I wrote without rambling.  I made good points.  I philosophized about the moral, ethical and emotional challenges I faced every day.  I kept my foot in the “political commentary” arena.  And the writing was damn good.  Where the hell did I get that creativity?  And why do I feel like I haven’t any left?

I originally started writing this post over a month ago, with the intent of coming up with something positive and day-brightening, something to interrupt the recent somber and churlish tone of the blog.  But to tell the truth, I don’t know how much day-brightening I have in me.  I can see just by the tone of my writing that I am…losing it.  Lost it, maybe.  I’m not passionate about anything.  Not engaged or inspired.  Just…blah.  I have felt this way since before last Christmas.  I know it’s depression, but since I’m not sitting in my pajamas in a darkened room all day, I’ve fooled myself into thinking I’m okay.  I’m handling it.  I’m making it from day to day. 

Of course, I’m not.  Just look at the crap I’ve been posting this year—when I post at all.  I feel like the old crone in Buttercup’s dream in “The Princess Bride.”  Like I’m walking up to people, poking my finger in their faces and hollering “Boo!  Boo!  Rubbish!  Filth!  Slime!  Muck!  Boo!”

Who wants to read that?  I don’t.

So I have to change this, don’t I? 

I think I’ll revive “Ten Minutes.”  This was the vehicle I used when I decided it would be good to write SOMETHING every day.  In ten minutes.  Ten minutes only.  No rambling or posturing or preaching or scolding.  Ten minutes of…whatever comes out of my head. 

I hope it won’t be rubbish, filth, slime and muck.   (Boo!)



  1. 2008 the economy was heading for the toilet, but we had hope in the presidential election.

    2013. The economy is still stagnant. A whole segment of our population would rathaer drag us off the cliff than admit that they can't stand the idea of a n***** going through the front door of the White House.

    The rights of everyone who isn't a WASP male over 50 are under attack. The last election was a joke. Frankly it was a race to the bottom for the Repulicans and we ended up with the Romneybot and a VP candidate whose whole theory of economics and society is based on two crappy novels by a Russian emigre atheist and he's taken advantage of every federal program he could.

    Is that the oder of High pock racy I smell comin' from more than one direction.

    What's not to love about this scenario?

  2. Sorry. I don't mean to depress you further but you have a lot of company. Dirt therapy only goes so far.