the drain

I've been at a loss with what to write lately, mainly because my mood has been dipping.  No tangible reason that I can think of; suddenly, everything just zooms in and dives.  It's unsettling because I fear I'm going to get stuck in the hole, that the depression is circling me like a shark and just waiting for the moment to really take a good chomp.  It's the new, improved version of depression with more fear, more dread, more lonliness. 

That last one is what's really getting to me, I think.  I've been pretty good at compartmentalising everything (which is not technically on the approved list of coping skills) that had to do with lonliness until relatively recently.  I can't blame it specifically on him, but as Hendrix (heretofore unmentioned) has been added to my circle of close friends, it's becoming more apparent to me that I need more real, human interaction.  As I said, it isn't his fault.  It's just something that seems to be a sticking point in my brain these days, most likely stemming from shooting the shit with him. 

So I try to do what I always do: compartmentalise.  And as I try to stuff the feelings back into tupperware and huck them up on the high shelf, bits keep slipping through my fingers.  They then trigger The Voices to start up.  The Voices are those bastards inside my head that constantly tell me I suck in explicit detail.  They've been working overtime lately.  I had the audacity to believe something potentially positive recently and that threw them into overdrive.  That positive has been wiped out, the earth scorched, and landminds installed just for good measure.  How dare I have a shred of hope?!

I'm seeing PB tonight where I'll no doubt hash this all out and leave with a red, puffy face.  But those Voices--I fear they're probably in for the long haul.

We interrupt this Sunday for some safety!

I'm on the back patio of the Pants Ranch right now. It's a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, I'm in a rocking chair; having a safety meeting, drinking an iced coffee.

I'm also wearing a staple outfit from the last chunk of time I spent on this patio, in a rocking chair, having a safety meeting, drinking diet ginger ale. My narwhal vs. Unicorn shirt, which is bleachy around the collar, my ugly denim capris that could double as pants for Danny DeVito, my red sandals. This is the last time I'll wear this outfit; mainly because it's too damn big now (yay!) but also because this outfit sucks. This outfit represents suckitude now. Impeached!

(I came here to water tomato plants and feed cats. I didn't come here to have feelings, goddammit.)

I should probably go back inside and apologise to Lola for kinda kicking her in the face to keep her from going outside. Her fault though. I told her. Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

money. money. zzzzzz....

86.25 hours last week. 

We get Thursday and Friday off.  I'm about to ask for Wednesday as well.  This is madness.

birds

I have a giant stack of bills, literally over an inch thick cos I just measured it, and some efiling to do, but I wanted to get this down so I remember it.

I am exhausted this morning.  I was working till 8.45 last night and I didn't take a lunch or dinner break.  I did eat lunch, but in between getting other things done, and in the very elegant "shovel food in and choke it down as quickly as possible" manner.  No dinner.  Too tired.  (Did indulge in a dinner roll.  Heavenly.)  So I'm a bit of a zombie this morning and I have to get gas on my way to work.

At the front door, Boris does his usual whining.  I think he has separation anxiety or something.  Or he just likes being a guilt-trippin' pain in the ass.  So I gave him some love and scritches until I could get him far enough away from the opening of the door for me to slip through.  Slip through, I did.  I locked the front door and turned around. 

There, by the stairs and a very small patch of grass in front of my neighbour's front window, is a fatty fat bird.  It's light greyish--we have a ton of them out here.  They make cool sounds.  (Google says it might be a white-tipped dove.)  Usually they're pretty skittish and will fly away if I just open my door.  This one sat there and stared at me.  I was careful to move slowly and not get too close as I looked at it.  We had eye contact, that bird and I.  Then I noticed another one just two or so feet away, across the small grassy area, sat up on the windowsill above the grassy area, sitting, not moving. 

A hoppy movement in the grassy patch caught my eye.  There, not even half the size of the other two fatty grey birds, was a gangly, wee little bird with sticky-up feathers and no idea that I was even there, hopping around and flapping his wings like he was having the time of his life.  The other two were guarding their baby bird while he played in the grass.  I smiled and backed away very slowly so they could get their play on. 

I don't know why it struck me so.  Maybe because the birds are so skittish--that's the closest I've been to one that hasn't been sick or hurt.  But that bird was not willing to move for anything.  I think it may have attacked if I'd shown I was up for it.  (I'm so not up for it.  Birds tend to creep me out most of the time.)  I liked the idea that it was willing to forego its natural instincts to flee in order to protect its baby, who had not a care in the world while it plodded around in that grassy patch.  It was a cool sight to see.

I hope Larry* doesn't come by and eat 'em.

*Larry is an interloper in the pods.  He might be owned, might not.  He will let me talk to him, he'll sniff my hand, but he's not into petting just yet.  I leave a bowl of food out for him by my door, which he appreciates.  He's got a very fluffy white and grey face with a little bit of brown in it.  He looks like a Larry.

hush

This is the part I hate.

I come home after it's already gotten dark, which is a few hours after it used to get dark so it feels even later.  I'm too tired to really do much of anything and before long, I'm crawing into bed.  It feels like only a half hour has gone by since I got home and tomorrow morning, it will feel like only a half hour has gone by since I laid down to sleep.  My body is exhausted but my brain won't turn off.

I'm so tired.  I just got home and I'm going to bed.  I'm going to be getting back up again in about half an hour, it seems.  Did I file that 7004?  I hope I wake up on time.  My alarm is on, but I'm so tired.  I need to vacuum.  I'm not eating as heathily as I should be.  Crap, I forgot to attach the 8879 to the client copy of that last return.  The cats aren't getting enough attention.  They're being assholes because I'm an absentee asshole.  I hate this.  I'm only at home for about 3 waking hours at a time and I'm so tired that--

You're not as tired as you were six months ago.

The interrupting voice is my own, but unexpected.  It stops the running commentary short.  My brain is still awake, but quiet now.

Half an hour later, the alarm goes off.