Point-Adjacent.

I did laundry last night, and I cried afterwards, because holy hell, laundry is exhausting. Especially the way I do it  – the way where you postpone it until your laundry closet won’t close anymore, which is something of a feat considering how bloody big that cupboard is without the standard washing machine that most people might think to put in it. (Most people not being me, because I am not in a position in my life where I feel ready to own a washing machine. Or an iron. Or a toaster.)

Earlier this week I had a day off work, and at some point lying in fetal position in a fuzzy blanket on the couch got  little stifling.  (I know, right? That’s got to be a first because, me, the couch, and fuzzy blankets? We’re like that at the moment.)

So anyway, the couch got boring, so instead I thought “you know what? Maybe I’ll put on pants and walk down to see the landlords horses.” It took another two hours before I managed to actually move from the planning phase to the phase where I was wearing pants, but still. That’s better than Monday, where I didn’t get to the phase where there were pants. At all.

Once I’d actually managed to get myself moving, the visit with the horses was awesome – which pretty much goes without saying. I mean, as a teenager I helped out at Riding for the Disabled, where basically I’d go and pick up horse poop with a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow for a couple of hours every Saturday. Without fail, it was the highlight of my week.

So yesterday I’m hanging out getting my horse-time in and the horses are all ‘Dude I’m going to lick your arms for some reason.’ I was cool with it though, because it turns out I’ll put up with a surprising amount just to hang out with horses. Including slobber and poop.

There’s no real point to any of the stories here. I’m point-adjacent, rather than point-centric. I think if I was going to have a point, though, my point would be that sometimes when you’re depressed you have to do shit you don’t want to, because having clean underwear is important. But then sometimes it’s about not doing the crap you can’t deal with, and instead going to pat horses because that’s the only thing that made you feel good that day, and that’s a thing worth putting pants on for.

Yeah. Like I said. Point-Adjacent.

Sunflowers

I feel better today. Not, obviously like life is a field of sunflowers*, but more like a bit of the weight on my shoulders dragging me down into the deep is gone. Focusing at work was easier too, which was nice. Meetings are always so much easier to attend when you’re not swimming through molasses to get there.

*As a rule, sunflowers are my least favorite kind of flower. I think they’re obnoxious, ugly, and they smell weird.

I ended up with a leaving card on my desk today, for a guy I barely know. I wrote the generic ‘good luck’ message, and then passed it on, but no matter how many times I passed the bloody card to other people, it kept coming back to me until it was me having to walk around the office collecting signatures. Being that I never met the guy, it’s entirely possible I even handed the card to him to sign… There were a suspicious number of people who also didn’t know who he was though. Our floor isn’t that big, either. It makes me wonder… What if it was just a stranger? Like I wonder if I went and brought a farewell card, and then handed it around the office for some fictional person (Oh you know Sarah! She’s in Teds team!) it would be interesting to see how many signatures you could get for that…

Oh. And? I did half my laundry last night. It was like some epic siege on the laundromat that ended in me exhausted, covered in a fine white mist of laundry soap, and sprawled in my car surrounded by lovely smelling sheets. It sucked ass, but on the plus side, the great underpants drought of May has once again been averted.

Just Keep Swimming.

So I’ve been having a rough time lately, the last month has been kind of bad. Making myself come into work has been really hard too. I mean, I’m managing it, but it feels a tiny bit like showing up to school drunk. (Which, naturally, I’ve never done.) It’s like you’re showing up to all the classes, and making the same lecture notes, but having a totally different experience from everyone else in the room. My thinking is foggy, my coordination is off, and my thoughts stumble around like drunkards, rather than the straight rational lines that preside when I’m in a less depressed state of mind.  Holding myself together enough to do 7.5 hours of work a day is taking a ridiculous amount of energy.

And at some point you start to wonder if anyone else has noticed yet. I mean some times I feel like I’m moving so slowly through time that the response delay would be noticeable, and sometimes I’m moving so quickly and frantically that the air around me almost jitters with it. Yet I’m sitting here feeling like somehow I’m getting away with this, and somehow I’m managing to mask it enough that it hasn’t drawn any negative attention.

The feeling of getting away with this should feel half gleeful, and half full of dread. Instead, most of the time it doesn’t. Its just a thought that floats through the rest of the fog every-so often. “You’re getting away with it. Huh. Must be doing something right.”

Frankly I’m scared that if I fall any further into depression here that it’s going to affect my work… I’m going to stop getting away with it - and it’s a relief to note that this is still a terrifying prospect. Well… mostly terrifying – there is a small part of me that finds the idea of letting this affect my job wrongly attractive - if I’m fired then I won’t have to keep trying so hard. I won’t have to keep getting up. I could just go to bed and stay there for weeks at a time. Or at least I could until the rent money runs out.

I know I’m not doing so well when ideas like that start popping up. I find myself scheming for ways I can justify not getting up that day. I got an awful stomach bug a couple of weeks ago, and I was sick enough that I lost 7kgs in less than a week. Despite feeling near death, and the small matter of spending days on end in fetal position on the bathroom floor, I was relieved. Finally a real reason to take sick leave.

It’s important to note that I don’t let myself take sick-leave just because I’m feeling depressed that day – I know myself, and that’s a slippery slope I can’t afford to lead myself onto.

Life in general is not being so helpful with the depression. If I had it my way everything would just stop for a bit, but instead, life marches on, and somehow I find myself in the middle of various pieces of drama in my personal life. Then I stumbled across information about a good friend that I wish to god I could take three steps back from and erase. So on top of the drama and the ‘OhMyGodDelete’, I still have ambitious financial plans that require attention and managing. I need to go to the supermarket. My laundry is so stacked up that I’m completely out of pants. Also towels. And sheets. And that’s saying nothing of the underpants situation, which is getting desperate.

It’s like, I’m barely functioning here, and it’s taking every ounce of sanity remaining, and energy to keep myself on-track at work, and quite frankly, everything else is going to have to wait. So I’m not doing my dishes tonight. And I’m not going to attempt to have conversations with the friends that I’m overdue for a catch-up with, because I. Can’t. Even. The washing will just have to hold on. I still have skirts. I’ll just be the girl who wears a lot of skirts. And who needs sheets? My fuzzy blankets are warmer anyway.

The depression isn’t going to last forever*, but until it lifts, I’m running on empty and making do, and that’s just fine for now. 

* That is a link to Stephen Fry talking about his manic depression in a way that really resonates with me. I think it’s a hopeful analogy, so I make a point of listening to it whenever I need a reminder that it can’t rain all the time.

A Games List from the perspective of my Cat

Ribbon
You: Run around with the ribbon, making it as exciting as possible.
I: Might chase it if I deem you engaged enough in the game.

Squeezy Face
I: try to squeeze my body into the space your face is currently occupying.
You: Move

Catch
I: Attack your feet.
You: Yell a lot.

Door
I: freak out about any door in the house being shut.
You: Open them, and ignore the cold.

Door II
You: Make eye contact around any doorway or piece of large furniture.
I: Go mental for no apparent reason.
(Often segues into catch – or getting over excited, and vomiting cat food on the carpet.)

*

(This clearly is the kind of gold-star quality writing that we all come to Leaf Probably to read.. Right?! Right. Lesigh. I have things to write about, I swear, I just got to the New post button, and can’t seem to get the typing with the words happen.)

Success!

The hens party went really well. I managed to host it without losing my sh*t in front of the crowd, and even managed to get a few laughs. In fact? I’d say that’s probably the most relaxed I’ve even been in front of a crowd. I was so proud of myself for pulling it off that I did a bit of a triumphant fist-pump out the window of the gherkin on the way home. I may have also yelled “F*ck yeah, I’m awesome!”

The theme was blue and purple, which are the brides favorite colours, so, true to form, I took that idea, and made it as tacky as possible with crepe paper streamers, balloons, blue dip, blurple cocktails, blue lollys, blue and purple cupcakes, and FOOD COLOURING . So much food colouring, in fact, that on Saturday morning when I went to the bathroom, everything was blue, and I thought that perhaps I was turning into a care-bear. Or dying.

I don’t think you’ve lived until you’ve peed blue, and then wondered if that means you’re now pregnant with a tele-tubby.

While I was transforming the brides living room into the blue-tacky palace, we got to talking about the agenda for the day before the wedding, and I inadvertently admitted to the brides that I didn’t exactly have my dress sorted for the wedding (the same wedding happening this Saturday!) and that was fun. Especially when I told them my plan was to go shopping Friday after the rehearsal. The incredulous look convinced me to go look for something yesterday on my day off instead.

Thankfully the brides aren’t doing the set bridesmaid dress thing at all, they’re just going to be casual about it, so I went out and found a lovely mullet dress to wear… Probably that’s not the real name for it, though, there’ll be a fancier name for it somewhere - in fact, wait while the magic of the internet supplies me with the real name and even a photo: The Oriental Flower Dress.

Huh. I think Mullet Dress is more appropriate.

Anyway, so that’s sorted. I have a thing to war at the party, and the hens night went well, and the blue food colouring is slowly coming out of my kitchen.