help

I feel seriously bad. I don't really know what's wrong with me. I was okay for a while, when hanging out with Ep and for most of the afternoon, but right now I feel downright horrible. Not physically ill, but just incredibly depressed. Squid called to check up on me (thanks) and I was okay then, but I keep hearing her say, "Well, the difference right now is that you are hitting the wall."

I am. I am hitting the wall. I feel like I did right after I was trying to get over Post Traumatic Stress. Really, I feel that bad. What's going on? I don't understand it at all. I'm not sure what to do.

I tried calling Manny but of course he is at a meeting. All I want to do is go in my room and get under the covers. damn it.

Comments

[Tonya]

Well, under the covers is fine! It's a good place to be! Seems to me you need to have some quality time -- alone -- with Manny. Seems to me, it's been a while since you have.

[Bakerina]

It's not just you, love. This is going around something fierce. At least 60% of my blogroll is feeling dreadful. I think I have it narrowed down to either an existentialism virus, the coming El Nino madness or food additives.

Hang in there. As Warren Zevon sang, we'll get through somehow. (Of course the line that preceded that was "the cattle all have brucellosis," which I know is not applicable, but I'm sure Warren would approve of parsing for the right reasons.)

[pam]

If I were going to give advice, I'd say lay off all news of political coverage. Eat your favorite food and watch TV tonight. It'll be all right.

[pam]

Mindless TV. I mean, non-news TV. You know what I mean.

[D]

All will be well.
I, too, have been struggling with depression. I keep thinking it is the political madness and feeling helpless to change anything. Sit Manny down and tell him you need him. Now.

[badgerbag]

ow! I tried to call you earlier but it was before I'd read this. want to go to the cafe tomorrow with me and rook and moomin? or come here and I'll make y'all pancakes!

[Keith]

Okay, here's what we need to do. Until Manny's ear returns and (the key part) is available, I need you to take full advantage of your friends' generosity. The cafe with the Rook and Moomin and Badgerbag sounds good. Or better yet, go for the pancakes. Pancakes are good. And yes, definitely give up the news, maybe not forever, but at least until your spirits are on the rise. Or better yet, forever. But we can cross that bridge when we get to it.

Now, if none of those things work we'll have to find something a bit more drastic. I'm hoping the Badgerbag can help, but if she can't, I am prepared to do the following.

My son and I will get in the car and drive down to California, where you and I will compete in a sort of depression olympics. We'll be judged on such things as housecleaning enthusiasm and tolerance of the seemingly endless children's questions. There'll be sychronized slack jaw and drooping shoulders competitions. Our reactions to unanswered phones will be measured and judged by a panel of experts. Or depressed bodies will be sniffed for hygiene neglect, and fingers run across our heads in the neglected hair competition (admittedly my weakest event). The possibilities are nearly endless.

So let me know if we need to start driving. I over-sugared my bowl of Wheaties this morning, so I'd like to get started as soon as possible, before it all wears off. I also hope that by the time we get there, your mood will have changed and you will have bounced back to the well-loved, full-speed-ahead Jo Spanglemonkey. You see, if that happens, not only does it mean that you're feeling better, but that I have a chance of taking home the gold in the depression olympics. It's a win-win situation.

Seriously, I hope today sees things take a turn for the better. For what it's worth, I'm pulling for you.

[Jo]

Aw Keither, you're really great.

But I could kick your ass. My moping is the legendary stuff of song and story.