Oppressed ...

... today by the suffering of life, by loneliness of so many people in the world, by grief and loss, by betrayal and illness and death.  I miss Nimbo and Sharpie and ... and people too.

I should be more philosophical I suppose and be glad of the good things too.   Usually I am, but tonight ... it's too hard.  Well.

Onwards and upwards.

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Melancholy

Tonight I'm thinking of friends and family who've died.  It started with a post from Andrew Sullivan, The Last Lesson We Learn From Our Pets,  and I thought back to my own dear dog, and with tears in my eyes, after that to friends and family who have died.  My mother, my father-in-law, my friend Henrik, my friend Anneliese, my father.

God has so badly organised this business of death.  So much suffering before the end.  And our grief!  It's just not fair that we should suffer so.  But "not fair" is childish.  The world is what it is.  But the way people and animals die, and the grief that survivors endure seems to me to argue very cogently for the absence -- the total absence -- of God.  We are alone, and what we make of our lives and of the lives of those we love is up to us.  Not believing in God and in Heaven and Hell makes it all the more important that we show love and compassion and forgiveness and grace now, while we yet live, and not rely on some mythical ideas about life after death and paradise.  I know these notions comfort some people when someone they love dies.  But for me, the horrible savagery of our ends, of the permanent severing of ties between us, is a compelling argument to loving one another while we still can.

The Black Dog

I'm feeling very down.  Depression is not the same as grief, but they are at the least cousins. My mum's death has left a huge hole in my life.  Not much seems worthwhile.

Maybe tomorrow.

Busy ... busy ... busy

This is a very full-on time of the year for me at work.  No time to answer emails, no time to do posts here.  Not to mention that I have a bad case of the blahs (more about that later).

Apologies.

Black dog

I'm feeling very down.  A series of niggling illnesses, one after the other, pain in my feet, my back and neck, struggling to lose weight, worries about my job, worries about money, loss of friends, a strong conviction that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, coming to terms with getting old and cranky ... in short, tedious, boring, dull, dispiriting.


Normally I can pull myself up out of the morass by listing all the things I have to be grateful for, all the good things in my life.  And I have many.  But today, somehow, it isn't working.


Maybe later.  :-)


The Black Dog Ghost

Down, down.

I'm feeling very down. Sometimes I know why this happens to me, and sometimes I don't. Often what takes down the slippery slope is something very small, something quite unimportant.

Maybe it's because I still don't feel right. I wake up with a headache every morning. Maybe it's because yesterday, when I took the dogs for a walk in the forest I found a pile of old carpets dumped by someone too laxy or too mean to pay the $25 fee to dump them at the municipal tip, even though they were prepared to pay a few thousands to get their new carpets. Scum. Maybe because someone I thought was a friend has turned out not to be. Maybe because I am barely losing weight, and I must, or my heart will attack me. Or maybe because we've been on holiday (just at home) and next week I will have to start getting up at 5:30 and going to my job again. Sigh.

So today I'm going downtown. I'll visit a second hand bookshop, maybe see a film, just postpone thinking.



Petula Clark!

I feel better already!

The Black Dog

Sometimes I have no idea where my depression comes from when I have an 'attack'. This morning I was happy. A beautiful winter morning, with the frost thick on the grass, ice on the cars, and the fence gently steaming in the sun. I'd lost a bit of weight, always good news. I went to the gym, had a good workout, then caught the train into the city. Saturday morning! What could be better? I arranged to meet my lady at a superb coffee shop where we often go. So far everything good.

Then it all started to go awry. I had two small gift vouchers for Myer, a huge department store. I went in to Myer and got more and more down as I wandered through the shop. There were beautiful shirts, from Polo, or Nautica, or Calvin Klein or Blazer. Beautifully cut, of beautiful fabric. And they were way outside my budget. $130. $160. $220. I went over to the house brand section. Oh, they had shirts. $40. Cheap. And you could see why. There were the clothes I could afford. Now I know why they called them the lumpen proletariat. Their clothes were lumpy and misshapen. Not elegant and tasteful and beautiful.

Yeah I know. Most people wear these cheap clothes. Most people can't afford to spend $130 or $160 on just one shirt. Welcome to the working classes, Nigel. This is the reality for most people. The great triumph of free enterprise. What depressed me was that there must be thousands for whom spending $130 on a shirt is nothing. A mere bagatelle.

Of course, it might not have been my relative poverty which made me depressed. See, I never really know. Sometimes I can think back over the day and then say, oh yes, it was that, or that, which put me in a crap mood. But other times... I don't the fuck know. It happens. The black dog takes over.

So maybe it was all the happy people going off to their footy game. What does it feel like to belong to a tribe? To have no doubts about it, no second thoughts? The train was full of footy fans going in for the game. Happy, happy people. A warm fug of 'us and them'. The alien (to me) rituals of male bonding: the team cap, the scarf, the guernsey, the high five. Could I pretend, do you think? I've always rather suspected not.

Dunno. Happy this morning, depressed tonight. And I don't know why.

But it makes me want to hide, to lock myself in a dark place, to sleep all day and hope that everything just goes away. They say there is a depressed gene. You'd think those fucktards who are trying to 'cure' gays would look for the depressed gene and do something really useful, don't you? But no.

I'm trying hard not to be depressed. Every day I list the things I'm grateful for. Sometimes, it doesn't work, and scolding myself into happiness and plenty fails. Oh well. Môre is nog 'n dag! I expect I'll feel better in the morning.

I know there are people with far worse problems. Those two guys just beginning a 14 years prison sentence in Malawi, merely for being gay. I know there are the poor sods who manufacture the shirts, working for 50 cents an hour or less. I know. So tomorrow, gentle readers, I will be happy. O frabjous day! Meanwhile, it's bed time.

Go well, and may The Goddess cup you always in Her hands.