This is getting ridiculous! I can't write! I can't even think of anything to write! I can't think of anything to write here, Worst Luck is dead in the water, and I haven't written a single email in weeks! I do a little responsive writing on my message board, and I've jotted some notes for the novel in my notebook, but nothing much. It's terrible! I feel empty and impotent.
Here's the funny thing: the depression that plagued me in July pretty much cleared up a few days before I went to Texas. And then it came back a week and a half after I came back from Texas (it made a very definite reappearance on Saturday, and hasn't much let up since). I guess that's a good thing, you certainly don't want to be depressed in Texas... it's depressing enough as it is without the veil of bipolar gloom making it worse.
On the other hand, it is making me look at the things in my home and routine that might be enabling the depression. The sameness of my life is kind of depressing; the bad eating habits and all, which weren't any better in Texas (they fry everything there), seem worse here because I can do better.
The job-front might be contributing somewhat. I had an interview for a job I really want last week, and while I think I handled the interview itself fairly well (though there were several things I wish I'd said in response to the interview questions), my emotions before and after were totally off the charts.
The day before, I panicked about what I was going to wear, so I went to this consignment store in Rockridge and bought a pair of shoes, a belt, and a tie. They were nice items for quite cheap, the shoes were from Barney's and the tie is Kenneth Cole, and I got the whole accessory-trio for under sixty bucks, so it was a good investment; but really, I do have shoes and ties already.
Then when I got home, I couldn't decide what shirt to wear with these new shoes and tie and belt... most of my dress shirts are warm colors, and I wanted a cool summery look for the interview; and the only cool colors I had were medium greys and bright blues, which didn't go at all well with the brown shoes and belt I'd just bought... and I didn't want to switch to black shoes and belt because they'd darken the dark taupe suit I planned to wear, rendering it not cool and summery. So I had to run down to Ross in Alameda to buy a new white dress shirt.
All the while, I was sniping at Grandmother and Daddy; I needed help from Grandmother with coordinating the shirts and ties, I needed her outside opinion, and she was being singularly unhelpful. She finds it distatsteful to just say she doesn't like something or just say that this shirt and tie don't look good with that suit. She has to couch her objections in weirdly noncommital phrases, or pick on some random and irrelevant detail... like I have this one shirt I really like, navy-and-white stripes with a white collar from Lord & Taylor (another consignment find), to which she objected because it looked "outdated." Now, white collars are very "in" for spring and summer these last two years, so the objection was entirely groundless, and so it pissed me off. The truth is, it doesn't go at all with my dark taupe suit, in fact no blue looks good with that suit, and that's all she had to say.
I tend to get very testy when my stress level gets above a certain level... I think most people do. But Grandmother doesn't grasp that when I get testy is the time to stop putting stress on me. I don't think she has ever understood the concept of changing one's behavior to not aggravate another person's emotional state. And my Daddy wouldn't know an emotional state if it jumped up and bit him in the ass... unless you explained it to him.
So anyway, I bought the new shirt, pressed it, pressed my pants and brushed my jacket, buffed up the shoes, and had everything set out so I could just get dressed the next day and head out to the City for my one o'clock interview. And of course I got a little behind schedule (Grandmother again, for some reason our internal clocks are wired so that we always need the bathroom at the same time), and started stressing out on the drive out to the City. But I got there in time, I was cool-calm-and-collected during the interview (though I was sweating like a... I was going to say "pig," but neither pigs nor dogs, the other usual comparison, are able to sweat... so I was sweating like a guy in a starched shirt freaking out at a job interview), and I think things went fairly well.
But since then, I have been seriously depressed. And it wasn't good timing, I had a show on Saturday night and so was around a lot of my depression triggers (lots of people to whom I would be likely to compare myself negatively... young, pretty, thin, talented, etc.) My self-esteem is down in the sub-cellar, I wake up grudgingly in the morning and have difficulty going to sleep at night, I have a weepy sensation in my chest, my temper flares up inappropriately, and I just feel sour.
I don't like not knowing if I got the job, and I don't like the possibility that I might not have gotten the job, and I don't like the fear of what happens if I do get the job but I'm not good at it or I hate it. And I think that this, along with my growing disgust with my burgeouning belly and my ennui around the house, is making me depressed.
But whatever. I'm working at my old job this week, training the replacement who is replacing my replacement (if you follow me). She's a nice lady, I like her and think she'll do a sterling job. Her first order of business was to rearrange her work area to her liking, which I think bodes well for longevity. And everything I've told her so far has been filed away efficiently, no repeating. She's a natural!
It's something to do, and some money in the bank, for which I am grateful. And next week I start my bipolar class, and then I have my doctor's appointment, to both of which I am looking forward with keen anticipation. And if the job for which I interviewed doesn't pan out, I have a plan of action set up to be put in motion as soon as I hear from them. So things are looking up.
And I seem to have done a bit of writing... how very cathartic!