Crazy is as crazy does


Warning: Stream of consciousness blog, expect not sense.

I am proving the theory that when diet blogs are inactive that the dieter is not doing so well. I have not lost myself in a vat of ice cream, although the idea is appealing.

I am however lost. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

There is always a slight background of depression to my life in general. Or, maybe I only feel that way when I’m depressed. I certainly have my moments of manic out of control happiness, energy burst, unconstrained spontaneity.

I had to look up the spelling of spontaneity… sad.

The point is that I’ve been in a slow depressive decline since slightly after Christmas, maybe slightly before, it’s hard to pin point. I’ve been feeling it much more acutely this past week.

Depression for me is a fuzzy, luxurious state of being. I believe that there is a certain amount of education and material wealth necessary to truly experience depression. I can’t remember ever truly feeling depressed when I had legitimate, concrete, tangible reasons to be depressed.

It is only with my ikea coffee table and non-matching dining set, sprawling book and dvd collection, macbook and so much food on in the fridge that I am fat that I can feel depressed.

I want to slap myself, to spit on myself, to call myself names, and then I feel silly and stupid and mellow dramatic. I am too old for such silly tantrums. It is an abundance of selfishness that would let me be so deplorable towards myself.

Treating myself as worthless is only something that someone who has the luxury not to think about the value of self can do. Therefore I am being selfish by aiming for self loathing.

At the same time I cannot value myself as much as I should, I have all the accoutrements to live a shiny-happy-people life, but I fail to do so. I am under achieving, refusing to live up to my potential, dallying in my over abundance and creating road blocks in my directionless wonderings that is my path of life.

I should move out to walden’s pond, count soybean production, forage for my food. I would loose weight and learn the value of life and a hard day of physical labour.

Or, I could go back to the gym. Work myself into a sweat. Push those endorphins to race back through my body and find my active, engaged and positive self.

Does that self have feeling? Does that self think? Or does she simply do? She is productive, with a ‘can-do’ attitude. But I hate her sometimes. She never seems to ask why… she plans, she does, she plans, she does.

She is happier, I suppose. But I don’t see the meaning. Is there meaning?

I need to forget the word why. The word why is the most wicked word in the english language. If I could forget the word why then I could be the cog, the cog in the centre, or slightly to the left of centre and up at a 39 degree angle from the centre small innocuous cog. I would sit at my desk, do the things that people who sit at desks do. I could read People, and care about Brangelina and their small colony of children. I would file my nails. My dishes would be done. I would wear colour coordinated belts and shoes. I would know which conditioner to use in which weather and would pick out swatches for a new couch. I would have kids and join the PTA and go to church on Sunday’s in a very fine hat.

I need meaning, answers, or I need to loose the questions and the quest. I need to get out of this limbo.

In the end, I will likely go to the gym this week and try to forget that life seems not like a box of chocolates, but like and endless treadmill.

Life is not so bleak. There are friends, good friends, good conversation, good food, fun. I need to find myself who likes to do these things, push myself to reconnect. With myself, with others. Reach out and touch things, people, earth, sky, water. I am disconnected in my hyper-connected over communicated world. I am not seeing the people through the crowds.

I am lost, but I need to turn a corner, not to be found, but to discover something new, something interesting. Leave me in the maze a while longer.


2 Responses to “Crazy is as crazy does”

  1. Easy Says:

    See — this is why you were supposed to go home and go to bed! So you wouldn’t think morbid thoughts.

    Seriously though, it’s good that you’re blogging again — it’s what I need to be doing, too.

    It was good to talk with you tonight, and good to feel that there’s other people who really know why this stuff is hard. I hope you can struggle past this.

    And me, too.

  2. beaglesmuggler Says:

    It’s the feeding the dogs that keeps me up…. I’ll be all set to just go to bed and then remember that the dogs may eat me in my sleep if I don’t feed them.

    On re-reading it that is a more depressing blog than I meant it to be. But that’s the problem with stream of consciousness, and also the problem with being able to type as fast as I can think (maybe that’s a criticism of my thinking rather than a compliment to my typing).

    It was good to talk tonight. I’m less in my head, less in my own fucked up little world when I actually to talk to real people, as opposed to wall myself into my little box in the city. I sometimes think I’m becoming a bit agoraphobic. Then I wonder if it’s possible to be agoraphobic and hyper-social at the same time…

    In any case I may actually do the dishes today. Wish me luck.

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