Not depressed


              I’m not really showering, not really sleeping, not really eating. These are all the symptoms of depression, but I don’t feel depressed. I feel that stretched out sense of time we’ve all been writing about. I stay up late without even realizing it. I have no concept of how long it has been since something occurred. I don’t mean for it to be 12 hours between meals—the hours just go slippery. I don’t mean for it to be three days since I washed my hair—the days just ooze.  All the usual markers are gone. I realize now how much I did because I was going to be seeing other people: Can’t go out looking like that. I don’t care if my hair is rumpled and I’ve worn the same tank top two days in a row, but I don’t want other people to think I don’t have my shit together.
              I’ve been spending a lot of time coloring. Not “adult” coloring--which is a term I dislike--which makes me think of people doing untoward things with crayons--but just regular coloring. Not migraine-inducing mandalas, or those garden scenes with microscopic spaces either. I’m coloring a kids’ book: A Star Wars Valentine 98-cent jobber my husband picked up on clearance at Target, a week after the holiday. It has big, easy shapes, and awful puns which I love: Chewbacca saying, “I CHEWS you!” Darth Vader saying, “Join the HEART side!” and the obvious, “YODA one for me!” I color these in and slip them under the bedroom door. I cannot tell if my husband is pleased or rolling his eyes. Day ten of quarantine.
              I’ve also been crocheting again, which is one of those habits I get very excited about for a short amount of time and then abandon and completely forget about for years. I did see one baby-sized afghan through to the end, ages ago. I count it among my greatest achievements and proof that I do have some grit after all.
              I am running out of books, now that the library is closed. I love books, but I don’t like buying them, especially when I don’t know if I’ll enjoy it, or ever want to read it again. I do have shelves of some favorites though. It might be time to return to Pillars of the Earth, which is 983 pages. Or Lonesome Dove—another tome. I can’t stand reading books on Kindle. I have “zombie fingers” and it takes me so many taps to turn a page that my blood pressure rises. I can feel the ghost of my father channeling through me and I have to take several deep breaths: “Don’t throw the kindle. Don’t smash the kindle.” That’s not reading; that’s an exercise in anger management. A cruel test that I am not up for.


Comments

  1. LeslieMarch 27, 2020 at 8:48 AM

    "the hours just go slippery" is why I like your writing so much. I'm keeping to a bit of a schedule - shower on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, take 2 walks a day between rainstorms, embroider or crochet in the late afternoon while watching a good movie. But I live alone and have no one else tugging at my apron strings. I feel for you and hope things smooth out and that you can find some things you enjoy to help you get thru the day. I'll mail you some art so that you'll feel obligated to get the glue stick out and slap together a postcard in return.

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