Yes, I know, I disappeared for a while. It's totally not my fault. I was kidnapped by aliens and transported to their home planet of Blah where they forced me to keep my room messy and watch Project Runway until I developed a lisp.
So, last time I posted I was getting ready to move. Let's not talk about that painful time in my life, eh? Now I have this great new place near downtown San Jose, complete with two great roommates and three cuddly cats, plus it totally freaks my mom out that I am living with a boy [Not that this means anything other than the fact that one of my roommates is male- and is in fact engaged to my other roommate, hmmm, sound familiar??] so that's fun. I've even managed to mostly unpack and to shed a great deal of my worldly possessions through the miracle of Goodwill donation. Plus, I am dating the cutest boy in the bay area and he is also the sweetest- he brings me roses and chicken soup when I am sick. So life should be pretty good and it is, except for the blah.
I haven't managed to really get settled in my new space. It's too small, really, for a bedroom and a craft area/studio combined. Everything fits, but not well, and I hate the feeling of not-rightness that I feel about this space. It's always been really important to make a living-space my own. Sometimes I even have a hard time being away from home and staying with friends and family because of this. I get nervous and panicky when I'm trapped in a space that doesn't feel right.
So when I move into a new place I spend a lot of time fiddling things around until they feel exactly right. It's my own neurotic version of feng shui, I guess. So I was excited about having this new space (and- OMG- my own bathroom, it's like I've died and gone to heaven) to make my own and I even painted one wall, in a half-assed, terribly poorly done, and unfinished painting job that sends me into fits of despair when I think about it too hard. [This is by no means reflective of the wonderful friends who helped me paint, Bry and Michael, you were great, but you have to admit it might have gone better had I acquired the right type of paint roller for the wall. Just sayin'.] But I've never once managed to get it truly and completely clean & organized because that status depends heavily on the conception of rightness which I cannot find here. And since it is so small, even a low level of disorganization makes life kind of miserable. What it's like after two weeks of being miserably sick right before Christmas? Mmm, yeh. It involves stepping over/on things frequently.
So there's that, which seems to tie in with the general feeling of blah-ness and unmotivation I've been dealing with for the last few months. Add in the fact that I re-injured my shoulder at work before I moved and have been dealing with almost constant low-grade (except when it's Vicodin-worthy) pain in my neck, arms and shoulders for months and everyone at work is tired of me complaining and wished I would just shut up and go away (especially the HR dept, whose tactic seems to be: Ignore it [me being the "it" in this particular situation] long enough and maybe it will go away.) And meanwhile I can't really afford to pay the credit card bill which has come in for the massage therapy which helped greatly but did-not-fix-the-problem.
Blah, see what I mean? I hate getting old and falling apart. I hate that I never seem to have the energy to work even a 30-hour work week without having a nervous breakdown. I hate feeling like I have all of this creativity that wants to come out in art and writing, but seems to be stuck, somewhere inside of me. This past week though- due to the fact that being sick wreaked havoc with my routine and therefore medication- I realized that a lot of the general badness I was feeling (in addition to coughing up pieces of lung and swallowing with a throat full of rusty razor blades) was due to forgetting to take the happy pills. Maybe I need a higher dosage of antidepressant. I have been so happy- with a great new relationship that only seems to get better, and a fun new city to explore- that it had not occurred to me that sadness is not the only symptom of depression and I have, not only the symptoms (exhaustion, lack of motivation, general blah-ness for no particular reason), but also the stressors (major life changes, moving upheaval, chronic pain..) for mild depression.
So that explains why I've wanted desperately to write and keep this blog updated over the last few months, but somehow I just couldn't. Just recognizing the problem is an immense relief and helps with the guilt I've been feeling, though there's still the temptation to feel guilty that I am depressed, especially when I'm already on Prozac, for Pete's sake. How lame can you get? I'm a New Englander, dammit, and we don't get depressed. We pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and keep going! I must be shamefully weak and pathetic to need drugs, and surely it's somehow my fault anyway. Hmm, time to make a Doctor's appointment.
Blah. Anyway, I am having a few post-Christmas non-sick days off before working all weekend and I am trying hard to enjoy them even though my room gives me heebie jeebies and the thought of cleaning it is too overwhelming to contemplate. I will update the blah series when I am feeling better and will try not to complain too much in the meantime.
Next: The happy post about fun things that this was supposed to be!