What more can I say about depression? I’m sick of talking about it. I’m turning into the people who I rail against – the people who say “just get over it.” But I’m beginning to feel that way about myself. Just get over it already. But I suppose it’s foolhardy to count on a depression-themed blog to eventually pick it up.
I’m also incredibly tired. But from doing what? Dreading. Dreading takes a lot out of me. I used to be able to dread for a full day without feeling it.
What am I dreading? That’s a fantastic question, now that I think of it, because no matter what happens, bad things will continue to be a thing. There’s just no avoiding it. Life is a mountain path, and we are the idiot tourists who thought it would be fun to go on a “hike.”
I’ve been complaining about Westerns. I’m not a fan of this genre. I’m not a fan of the whole era. Here’s my impression of the Wild West:
“We don’t yet have the technology to destroy the earth on a global scale, but by gum, we’re going to give it our best.”
To think that this era has become romanticized. But then again, every era becomes romanticized – that’s what happens to something when it falls into the past. If something lasts long enough, it’s amazing. Those Ancient Greek pots and pans we find – those may well be the equivalent of IKEA furniture.
It takes some things longer than other things –
It’ll probably be a good five hundred years before a Toyota Corolla is looked upon with awe and reverence.
The family sitting at the table next to me at Pizza Rev (more on Pizza Rev in a moment) is using a selfie stick to take a picture. Why do I desire nothing less than fire to rain upon these people -specifically for using a selfie stick? What is it about selfies that bother me? Pictures have always bothered me. The theme of every picture taken is “everything’s fine. Nothing is wrong. We’re all doing great.” A picture is worth a thousand words of denial.
But back to Pizza Rev. I imagine the “Rev” is short for “revolution.” What’s the revolution? They looked at a Subway and said “let’s do that, but with pizza.” And as a result, the solar system was never the same again – hence the “revolution.” I’m pretty sure that the planet Uranus is on it’s side because, billions of years ago, aliens figured out how to quickly make pizza that was sort of healthy.
When I order a pizza, they ask what kind of crust. I say I want the gluten free crust. They say “is that a preference or an allergy?”
What business is it of yours? And why are they asking that – I feel like, if I say “it’s a preference,” they’ll say “great, now I won’t have to try as hard. I’ll only loosely assume that whatever dough I’m grabbing is gluten free.”
I want to start saying “if I have one speck of gluten, I will die. And my family will blame your family.”
What was I talking about? Oh, right. Depression. Does this have anything to do with depression? Oh, here’s the other thing I’m noticing start to happen. The more I talk about my depression, the more I start to see it from a more objective place. And by “objective,” I mean “too exhausted to react emotionally.” It’s a real pleasure.