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You must have come here on the wrong way
Nov. 23rd, 2010 02:28 amFriday:
Went to the Goose Fair, where the ladies of Winchester yearly sell crafts, baked goods, old books, and antique jewelry to benefit something or other. I bought several stick pins and a comemmorative spoon from the 1893 World's Fair. I haven't precisely refused to eat anything except with the spoon.
Saturday:
Went to the mall to buy new trousers because I only have one (frayed) pair that still fits me and I can't make it through an entire season of creative cold weather solutions for skirts (most of which also no longer fit). Basically the entire staff of Banana Republic marshalled to help me try on every pair of trousers in Banana Republic in every size and color until we could determine what size I am now, and advised on how each cut and fabric would stretch and weather over time, and then gave me 30% off. So I am now outfitted, although still breaking in some of the trousers which are therefore temporarily uncomfortable although flattering. (I was assured this was correct and like a cowboy boot situation, although they did not say cowboy boot situation. Only I am saying cowboy boot situation.)
We also went by Williams Sonoma, which we had the misfortune to hit in between batches of free samples, so the only entertainment was an attempt to convince Mom that we need a rotisserie for the kitchen which will at all times be stocked with rotating lamb donner. Ciro picked up some espresso which works particularly well with our espresso maker. Then a run to the liquor store for Sam Adams, including a particular seasonal chocolate bock which one can apparently only get in mixed six- and twelve-packs, and which is nice.
Sunday:
Scarlett's salon once again; I now have a pixie cut which I would roughly characterize as strawberry blonde too pink to look natural but not pink enough to look unnatural. There are enough high and low lights that my head looks magically on fire.
I am attempting to change things around in my appearance until I look like someone I enjoy seeing. That seems like a setup for an eating disorder, but is more an actor's relationship with costuming. I am dressing carefully because that is something depressed people don't do. It's hampered somewhat by the fact that it is difficult to be warm without looking either sloppy (no) or posh, particularly given that my coloration and build already lend themselves to seeming proper. And therefore not someone interesting to talk to. It is much easier for me to look like myself when it's warm.
My other cognitive trick is to schedule myself in such a way that my time is always occupied but never with anything challenging. It can't be too easy, or my mind wanders, which is bad. It also can't be too hard or interesting, because this also spurs me to think. It has to be stuff like kakuro puzzles or singing along with songs I know, nothing that would actually make an impression on me. Simple conversations such as "what did you do today" are challenging both because they cause me to be contemplative and because I usually can't remember how I spent most of my time, deliberately.
I try to get out of the house daily, but not to go anywhere and not to go nowhere. I am exhausted all the time except when I need to sleep, and I'd be surprised if I'm averaging more than six hours a night. A suspicion that everyone is lying to me right now out of fear and a sense of responsibility for someone who is likeable when well. Reclusive.
Monday:
Ran errands with Mom but was not able to run any of the errands because it was Monday and everything was closed. Tried to eat at a Korean restaurant I like, but it has vanished, so instead ate at a Chinese restaurant which I did not like, although our waitron was nice. Came home and part of the cable package I needed for work did not work. Straightened that out with the cable company (their mistake) but not in time to do the program. Suspect everyone is mad at me for a situation last week that was not my fault. Don't know whether this is real or paranoia.
Looked at therapists, but consensus around the house is that I would probably not find any of them any more helpful than not having a therapist, which is interesting mainly because it's the opposite of what I am usually told. So instead looked up dentists and dermatologists. My prediction is that I will be depressed for another three to four months, based on the usual length of things and the fact that this isn't externally motivated. I can't say I think therapy will speed that up, and it seems like that's about how long it takes for medicine to kick in as well.
I feel like I would be doing much better if I could relax, sleep properly, behave normaly in social environments, and have an appetite, but that is of course Catch 22. Perhaps I should begin taking medical cannabis. According to much of the testimony during public comment at San Francisco Board of Supervisor meetings, which I transcribe faithfully, that shit is borderline miraculous. Of course, according to public comment testimony, there is also a vast conspiracy that reaches to the highest levels of government and which zaps our internal organs with microwaves and inserts listening devices in our teeth for fun, so maybe the real issue I need to deal with is that.
Went to the Goose Fair, where the ladies of Winchester yearly sell crafts, baked goods, old books, and antique jewelry to benefit something or other. I bought several stick pins and a comemmorative spoon from the 1893 World's Fair. I haven't precisely refused to eat anything except with the spoon.
Saturday:
Went to the mall to buy new trousers because I only have one (frayed) pair that still fits me and I can't make it through an entire season of creative cold weather solutions for skirts (most of which also no longer fit). Basically the entire staff of Banana Republic marshalled to help me try on every pair of trousers in Banana Republic in every size and color until we could determine what size I am now, and advised on how each cut and fabric would stretch and weather over time, and then gave me 30% off. So I am now outfitted, although still breaking in some of the trousers which are therefore temporarily uncomfortable although flattering. (I was assured this was correct and like a cowboy boot situation, although they did not say cowboy boot situation. Only I am saying cowboy boot situation.)
We also went by Williams Sonoma, which we had the misfortune to hit in between batches of free samples, so the only entertainment was an attempt to convince Mom that we need a rotisserie for the kitchen which will at all times be stocked with rotating lamb donner. Ciro picked up some espresso which works particularly well with our espresso maker. Then a run to the liquor store for Sam Adams, including a particular seasonal chocolate bock which one can apparently only get in mixed six- and twelve-packs, and which is nice.
Sunday:
Scarlett's salon once again; I now have a pixie cut which I would roughly characterize as strawberry blonde too pink to look natural but not pink enough to look unnatural. There are enough high and low lights that my head looks magically on fire.
I am attempting to change things around in my appearance until I look like someone I enjoy seeing. That seems like a setup for an eating disorder, but is more an actor's relationship with costuming. I am dressing carefully because that is something depressed people don't do. It's hampered somewhat by the fact that it is difficult to be warm without looking either sloppy (no) or posh, particularly given that my coloration and build already lend themselves to seeming proper. And therefore not someone interesting to talk to. It is much easier for me to look like myself when it's warm.
My other cognitive trick is to schedule myself in such a way that my time is always occupied but never with anything challenging. It can't be too easy, or my mind wanders, which is bad. It also can't be too hard or interesting, because this also spurs me to think. It has to be stuff like kakuro puzzles or singing along with songs I know, nothing that would actually make an impression on me. Simple conversations such as "what did you do today" are challenging both because they cause me to be contemplative and because I usually can't remember how I spent most of my time, deliberately.
I try to get out of the house daily, but not to go anywhere and not to go nowhere. I am exhausted all the time except when I need to sleep, and I'd be surprised if I'm averaging more than six hours a night. A suspicion that everyone is lying to me right now out of fear and a sense of responsibility for someone who is likeable when well. Reclusive.
Monday:
Ran errands with Mom but was not able to run any of the errands because it was Monday and everything was closed. Tried to eat at a Korean restaurant I like, but it has vanished, so instead ate at a Chinese restaurant which I did not like, although our waitron was nice. Came home and part of the cable package I needed for work did not work. Straightened that out with the cable company (their mistake) but not in time to do the program. Suspect everyone is mad at me for a situation last week that was not my fault. Don't know whether this is real or paranoia.
Looked at therapists, but consensus around the house is that I would probably not find any of them any more helpful than not having a therapist, which is interesting mainly because it's the opposite of what I am usually told. So instead looked up dentists and dermatologists. My prediction is that I will be depressed for another three to four months, based on the usual length of things and the fact that this isn't externally motivated. I can't say I think therapy will speed that up, and it seems like that's about how long it takes for medicine to kick in as well.
I feel like I would be doing much better if I could relax, sleep properly, behave normaly in social environments, and have an appetite, but that is of course Catch 22. Perhaps I should begin taking medical cannabis. According to much of the testimony during public comment at San Francisco Board of Supervisor meetings, which I transcribe faithfully, that shit is borderline miraculous. Of course, according to public comment testimony, there is also a vast conspiracy that reaches to the highest levels of government and which zaps our internal organs with microwaves and inserts listening devices in our teeth for fun, so maybe the real issue I need to deal with is that.
