Time Stands Still

It's funny how the last blog seems to indicate the mood of the blogger, regardless of what has transpired since.
Luckily, my memory is too spotty to stay depressed for long. I often awaken and forget that I was even depressed the night before.
The bellinis (that's peach slurpies, Mike) Thursday night actually did cure me. So did deciding to go out on a nice dinner date last night.
On the Funny Girl List, we recently discussed depression and how there's no excuse for not getting long term depression sorted out.
One of the things we forget is that depression can look like extreme crankiness, making more than ourselves miserable.
Anyway, mine is gone for now, and good riddance.

Bellinis and a Little Chat

Today is a new day and after a few blenders of Bellinis last night with a good friend, things have smoothed out nicely. FYI, Bellinis are a blend of white meat peaches, peach brandy or nectar, and a whole bottle of champagne. I think Hemingway used to drink them at Harry's Bar in Rome.
I talked late last night with the woman I mentioned in my last blog. It was a peaceful chat where we both were able to settle things amicably and move on in separate directions.
A few weeks' fling is not worth months of animosity or the ruining of what could become a nice friendship.
Summer is starting to taper off in San Antonio. The light is changing outside and taking on a nice, fall glow. I love fall and spring. My Circadian clock adjusts happily to both seasons.
People on my reblog likened depression to a head cold. They are right. It comes, it goes, and some bouts last a shorter time than others.
I think mine may have converted to a chest cold. I am stuffy and coughing and have that sleepy feeling. Luckily I am off till the day after Labor Day, so I can sleep a lot and shake it off.
I guess it's true- when life hands you lemons, make Bellinis.

Okay. I'm depressed.

I seem to have slipped into a medium strength depression. It's not bad, but I can feel the effects creeping up on me.
See, a few weeks ago, I got involved with someone who was at the tail-end of her relationship with a woman who had not made her happy in some time.
As we became closer and more intimate, her abysmal relationship suddenly revived.
Sadly, I had to scoop up my bruised heart and mangled pride and bail out.
She wrote me a hyperperky letter the next morning, hoping we could remain friends. It was too soon and too cavalier. I replied in a *somewhat* curmudgeonly way.
Rumor has it, she was offended. Apparently she forgot about my curmudgeonly tendencies. Or maybe she just didn't get how much she'd hurt my feelings.
I miss her and I care about her, but I am neither going to be anyone's other woman nor treated in a cavalier way, so here I am, wrapped in my tattered self esteem.
Joan Armatrading wrote the ultimate song for this wretched situation called, "The Weakness in Me." When one is at the receiving end of this song, it's depressing as hell. And here I am, on the receiving end, getting depressed as hell.
I have tried to remedy the situation with VISA therapy.
I ordered a bunch of books about Frida Kahlo, who had her own love problems with Diego Rivera. And I ordered Dusty Springfield's Greatest Hits on CD, so I can have the right background music for my dismay.
I guess the answer song for "The Weakness in Me" is Joni Mitchell's "The Last Time I Saw Richard," where she sang:
'I'm gonna blow this damn candle out
I don't want nobody coming over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way someday
Hiding behind bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings
And fly away
Only a phase, these dark cafe days..."

Yep. Depression is only a phase and I have faced and conquered it a hundred times.
Still, I wish it was a chore I could avoid.
White meat peaches are in season and champagne is always available. I think a blender full of icy cold Bellinis might just take the edge off...or maybe a trip to some dark cafe, since it is raining outside, and brooding conditions are ideal.

Already Panicking

I have insomnia. I think it's work-related.
Just the thought of going back to the corporate ratrace had my mind reeling as I laid in bed earlier.
What would my office be like? Most of the bigwig offices are glass on at least one side, and that means no privacy.
Would they let me bring in a CD player?
Where do they eat lunch?
All I saw around there was a Jack in the Box and a dump called The Curve.
I've never ventured into The Curve, but I suspect the decor is beer signs and pool tables, with a real hairy guy in an undershirt, frying greasy burgers behind a stained Formica counter. No can do.
And Jack in the Box? No way. Their food is inedible, and I've heard one too many urban legend maggots-in-the-meat stories about that place.
Plus, what if my insomnia continues? No naptimes in the corporate world, especially not with windowed offices.
And no more shopping at 2 p.m. when the crowds are light. I'd have to become a weekend shopper, which would only add to my basic agoraphobia.
Woe is me. I am hammocked between two worlds.
Too bad Miss Cleo the TV psychic was a fraud. I could use her advice right now.

Come September

I'll be happy again.
The Sopranos and Survivor are coming back with new episodes.
That's basically all I need to feel complete, if you throw in Six Feet Under.

I think I may have accidentally met Lauren Bacall online, through some work I do for my isp. How cool is that?

I had a meeting with my major client and the topic of my working there full time has come up again.
I am actually thinking about it. It would cut seriously into my travel adventures, but considering they have usually been about chasing the wrong woman, I am starting to think it might be better to just get back into the rat race and earn some serious cash.

I kind of miss having an office and getting to wear snappy clothes to work.
What I don't miss is commuting and having to be in the same spot day after day.
Maybe a nice new Lexus, BMW or Benz would make the commute easier.
Nothing like eight speakers of car shaking funk to clear one's head in the morning.

I dunno. It's starting to sound good to me. Giant flat screen TV, anyone?

Ha! Score One for Our Side

Ultra conservative right wing news pundit Bill O'Reilly gave the gay magazine "The Advocate" an interview that'll knock his conservative fans right on their asses.
Go here:
http://uspolitics.about.com/library/weekly/aa082802a.htm
and see what he had to say about gay adoption rights, gay marriage, homophobic fanatics and other areas of interest to gays and lesbians.
Let's just say I am very pleased with this evolved and new O'Reilly, and hope he has enlightened a few of his more extreme, hate mongering fans.

In the News

They say bin Laden is alive in a cave somewhere near Bora Tora, or is that Tora Bora?
Whichever, my hunch is now that Dubya's plan to go after Saddam is getting a lukewarm response from Americans, he's finally decided to quit fucking around and have our military capture bin Laden and bring him in.
That way, the American public will say "Yay! We got him," and then be more likely to okay Dubya going after Saddam.
Why would Bush stall? Because each passing day nets more money for his war mongering military industrial complex campaign contributors, silly.
So the timing is right for Dubya to nab bin Laden, take a big bow and then say, "Okay, now may I please go get Saddam?"
And we Americans, being the gullible fools we are, will say, "Yes, George, here's a few more trillion for you. Go get him!"
Hey, if Dubya can bring in that asshole bin Laden, I'd probably be more likely to support the U.S. collapsing the Iraqi government.
But right now, I am a one-mission-at-a-time person, and until Dubya hands us bin Laden's head on a stick, I'll continue to doubt his competence at waging offense or defense.

Blissful Nothingness

The only chore I had to do today was taking my best friend Anna to the airport.
She's going back to Ethiopia for five weeks to set up a master's program in social work at Addis Ababa University.
Gee, and I painted a wall this summer.
Anna's great. We communicate on such a clear level, words are optional.
Today's example:

Anna: How's it going with...
Me: It's not.
Anna: Oh? Why?
Me: Ehhh.
Anna: Uh huh.
Me: Whatever.
Anna: Yep.

It's so much easier to talk in vague grunts and groans, especially when the topic is the same one we've covered many times in the past.
We ought to just number them:

Anna: How's it going with...
Me: 3
Anna: Got it.

Our IM's are even better. Say she is asking me to have lunch with her:

Anna: WF 12:15?
Me: y
Anna: bye
Me: bye

That means,
"Do you want to have lunch with me today at Whole Foods at 12:15?"
"Yes."

I love her. She cuts right through the bullshit.

Almost Done...

I am done painting, don't have any work to do until an easy meeting on Wednesday, then I begin Labor Day week. I thought about going on a road trip, but then I remembered all the worker bees who'll be thinking the same thing, and nixed that idea.
Planning anything outdoors is out of the question- West Nile mosquitoes have already killed one person in Houston, and I have no plans to be the first San Antonio victim.
I was watching trash TV tonight, Fear Factor and Dog Eat Dog, now Queer As Folk.
Pure crap, but sometimes the mind must be clouded with sensory crap as a diversion from the real crap in one's life.
While painting my sister's wall, I was at the mercy of her music collection and slipped in a compilation CD her ex had made for her when they were courting.
The cringe factor went pretty high when "Mac Arthur Park" came on. Richard Harris, poor dear, in his reedy voice singing those quasi-psychedelic lyrics, "I don't know if I can take it, 'cause it took so long to bake it, and I'll never have that recipe again...oh nooooo, oh nooooooo!"
Holy Christ, what was he thinking?
It did, however, make me want to watch Harry Potter again on video, so that's on my schedule soon. Richard Harris makes a much better Albus Dumbledor than a 70's rock star.
And, like Barcodie, I have nothing much left to say tonight.

Layer Three

After a weekend of faux finishing my sister's wall, I am off today to do layer three, the feathering and metallic stage. Then there's the glaze to tone it all down, then I am done.
I think this project has caused my spine to move out of whack, and my arms and flanks hurt like hell.
Lucky my sister's an acupuncturist.