I haven't felt like posting. I am in the cavernous cavern of depression. The gaping maw. The something else large and dark and inescapable that I can't think of because have I mentioned I am a trifle blue?
My grandmother used to get depressed and you just wanted to slap her. Not the grandmother who wanted to shove the address book up my nethers, the other grandmother. The grandmother who bought me all my clothes. I guess one day I will have to do a whole This Grandmother/That Grandmother with photographs kind of a thing.
Anyway, the one who got depressed and bought me all my clothes always worked full time at a very rewarding job, and then suddenly she didn't, and when she wasn't listening to Saturday Night Fever or Pink Floyd as loud as possible (it was the '70s), she was looking out the window and sighing. It is the biggest fear of my aunt, my father, and me that we will turn out just like her.
This weekend, I was exactly like her.
I did try to get over myself a little by doing something for someone else, and that involved making a care package for that soldier I adopted. Unfortunately for everyone on planet Earth, that meant I had to go to Target, which is right next door to PetSmart, and they were having dog adoption days.
There was a seven-month-old golden Retriever-ish puppy snickerdoodley dog there, and she was found in a corn field, which meant I immediately named her Maizie, and here is her picture:
You know you want to take her home and make her Tallulah's friend. You know you want to talk Marvin into it, and get into a huge, huge fight with Marvin and get even more depressed.
Sigh. Look out the window. Sigh.
Anyway, at least I got good stuff for my soldier, which did not include Maizie. He wants me to send a disposable camera so he can take pictures, then he is sending the camera back so I can develop the film. I think that'll be cool.
My grandmother was one of the first people in the nation to go on an antidepressant. I do not think there is any shame in going on an antidepressant. (Which makes me feel like I need to clarify. When I say my family fears being like Grammy, we do not fear having her chemical makeup. What we fear is having her hand-on-the-forehead, woe-is-me, throwing away her wedding ring and ripping up every picture from her youth thing that she'd get when she was depressed. I mean, when she wasn't depressed she was this smart, funny, interesting woman. Then she'd go to bed at one in the afternoon, fully dressed and we were all supposed to stop everything and feel bad for her. THAT is how I don't want to be and oh, I am so like that.)
Some people's chemicals just don't work right. Antidepressants don't make you feel all high, and you don't get addicted to them, they just make you feel normal. I say all this because I read Dooce and I can tell by her comments that that's what people think about antidepressants and it makes me angry when they write in and clearly have no idea what they are talking about. Anyway, I am not on them. I use Imitrex for migraines and combining Imitrex and antidepressants can be fatal.
Got a window I can look out of?