Depression's Back
Yeah, I know, it's as boring to read as it is to relate, but the black tide has rolled in again, and it has once again left me unmotivated to spew my usual dose of witty bile. No major reason--well, I'll be moving soon, and the new grind of teaching is starting soon (which also means that I'm stuck in the do-nothing limbo of 'what-good-am-I' idleness), and I haven't heard back from the folks at Singapore, which means that I'm not their first choice and they're just waiting for said first-choice to say "yes" so they can get around to telling me "no," and I just had pretty clever paper (Hamlet and Rear Window--A Clash of Neurotically Compulsive Hyper-interpretations!) rejected for a conference, and I don't have any irons in the fire with regard to jobs or a project or a life, and basically, what with wife away and parents away and my being pressed into service as a housesitter, I'm trapped here up in Oxnard, moping around the empty house and moodily ruminating on the failures of my life. So, I mean, what's the deal? Why on earth should I be depressed, I ask you? Still, I am, and I'll have to claw my way out a bit before I can offer you words of snarling and perspicuous charm. Sorry...
...oh, and I wish I could say this was all part of some elaborate April Fool's Joke, but alas, it is not. As a side note, does it strike that this day must have an appalling amount of personal/emotional blow-back for people who have to try to do/say something really serious, only to be presumed in jest?
"I have cancer."
"Hah! Good one, Bob!"
"No, really, I have cancer!"
"You slay me!"
"G*ddammit, I have cancer!!!"
"This guy's a wild man!"
And so forth. Not an entirely well-thought-out holiday--perhaps we need a 'safety-word' to be used in the event of genuine communication.
"I've fallen in love with someone else and I'm leaving you."
"Oh, honey, you always could make me laugh!"
"Wheelbarrow."
"Oh, sh*t--you're serious!"
See how much better that would be? Sigh. Depression sucks. Wheelbarrow.
...oh, and I wish I could say this was all part of some elaborate April Fool's Joke, but alas, it is not. As a side note, does it strike that this day must have an appalling amount of personal/emotional blow-back for people who have to try to do/say something really serious, only to be presumed in jest?
"I have cancer."
"Hah! Good one, Bob!"
"No, really, I have cancer!"
"You slay me!"
"G*ddammit, I have cancer!!!"
"This guy's a wild man!"
And so forth. Not an entirely well-thought-out holiday--perhaps we need a 'safety-word' to be used in the event of genuine communication.
"I've fallen in love with someone else and I'm leaving you."
"Oh, honey, you always could make me laugh!"
"Wheelbarrow."
"Oh, sh*t--you're serious!"
See how much better that would be? Sigh. Depression sucks. Wheelbarrow.
posted by Yr. Hmbl. & Obdt. | 9:49 AM
2 Comments:
Ahh but you could have been one of the throngs of people who were searching up and down Venice looking for a *hot* bachelor party that never existed. Now wouldn't you have felt special then on April 1?
Perhaps--but only because I'd allowed myself to be deluded into the existence of such a thing as a *hot* bachelor party. Really, does such a beast exist? Strippers? Bored, angry women who despise their clientele? No thanks. Booze? I can get that any night of the week (or for breakfast, these days--kidding!) Cigars? Meh. And as for party drugs--the problem with cocaine is that you've got to hang around with OTHER people doing coke, and that's no fun--pot leads to conversations you cringe the next day at having had--ecstacy makes you want to touch people, and you can't touch strippers and you DEFINITELY can't touch the other party-goers--meth makes you set the building on fire, which ends the affair prematurely (though it would give a *literal* justification for the term *hot*)--and heroin makes you sleep through the whole thing. The thing about bachelor parties is that in order to be traditional, no women except strippers will be there--so no sex will result from the evening--unless it's a *gay* bachelor party, in which case, that might be the *only* kind that could achieve, for its attendees, hotness. Because then touching each other is cool, so ecstasy may be partaken of, and after the strippers get them all worked up, they can all peel off into twos and threes and...well, I'll let your closeted minds do the rest...
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