World’s Worst Kept Secret (or I’m going to have a heart attack and die from not surprise)

I suffer from depression.

There, it’s out there. After years of trying to fool myself, but always knowing the truth, I figured it was time to admit as much.

Those closest to me have likely always known; certainly anyone who knew me in university could easily tell.

The funny thing about depression (rim shot), is that the more time I have to think about it, the worse it gets. These past couple of months have been the worst in a long while; being out of work has given me more time to focus on myself and my life than is probably healthy.

The kicker is I’ve had all this time on my hands, and haven’t done anything overly productive with it. I’ve kicked around a couple of writing projects, half-heartedly looked at getting an agent, and spent an inordinate amount of time perusing job boards for positions I’m certain I’m going to hate.

I’ve had a couple of good interviews, and one that I’m really excited about but I’m almost under qualified for the position. It’s scary because it’s a big deal… a real grown up job, with real responsibility, and so close to the edge of my comfort zone in all areas that a wrong glance would send it over the precipice.

But as a grown up job, I’d have to give up the non-pursuit of acting as a career. There just wouldn’t be time to do justice to the job otherwise. And to be honest, my half hearted and assed pursuit of acting since I got here has been pretty sad. I know I love it; I just can’t work up the energy to pursue it.

Lack of energy results in lack of action, which only cycles me further downward. I don’t believe in taking drugs; an even me isn’t me. But I feel like I’m being backed into a corner.

Thank god for Gal, who’s been great at keeping me sane, despite the stress of being the only income earner in a city that’s not conducive to it.

Admission is the first step. Incredibly, I feel much better just having written this. I don’t have any more answers, but at least I know they’re out there.

This will likely be the last entry in this blog. I’m planning on starting a new one once I have something worthwhile to say again.

TTFN

I'm de-caffinated!

Seriously. The former caffeine fiend, the 6-8 cups a day devil, the guy who used to vibrate after 2pm has been caffeine free for over two months.

Don't know why I did it, but I noticed that when I was back east I didn't have any and felt pretty good. So I've avoided it since I've been back, and I've been golden.

Except for the past couple of weeks, when I've found myself dragging pretty hard. And I'm not sure how long it will last, if/when I start working again.

But caffeine free. Whodathunkit?

Now if I could just get rid of this big back of crack...

I don't have TB

I took advantage of having all this free time by going to the doctor for the first time in at least 10 years (not counting trips to the ER). I got bloodwork, xrays and so on done, and the GP decided that it would be a good idea if he sent me to a lung specialist. Apparently he could here and see some scarring in my lungs. He told me there were two common causes of this; having had a lung collapse in the past, or having had tuberculosis.

Well, says I, I've had a lung collapse, so that's probably it. But in the interest of humouring him (and helping him get a new boat for Christmas) off I trot to the lung guy.

He makes me do a bunch of tests, including breathing through a plastic tube with a big rubber end bit clamped between my teeth, holding my breath in said contraption, panting until I almost pass out in said contraption, and then sealing me in a small air tight chamber to do it all over again. And the highlight of this was the Romanian lab tech who was shouting instructions at me as to when to do any of these things.

Then I see the lung doc again. He asks me if I've spent any time on a farm, reservation, huffing asbestos, using intravenous drugs, participating in high risk behaviour, car surfing, attending law school, climbing hotel balconies, or auditioning for beer commercials. (I've only done 3 of those) He also asks if I've ever smoked. Now, it's not common knowledge, but I was on the sticks for a time, but haven't been for over 5 years.

And then he tells me he thinks I might have TB. Because, apparently that's one of the causes of scarred lung tissue. I told him I had a collapsed lung. He said he needed more tests to be sure. Now, I'm no doctor, but if a patient has scarring on their lungs that can be caused by one of two things, and the patient admits to having had one of those two causes, shouldn't by process of elimination we be able to determine what's caused the scarring? Maybe that's why I'm not a doctor. Afflicted with too much sense. But I guess lung specialists want new boats for Christmas too.

So, more tests, blah blah blah, and believe it or not, I don't have TB. I have something else, which caused the lung collapse oh so many years ago. This syndrome apparently precludes me from ever smoking again, or ever taking up scuba diving, as it could cause "Irreperable Damage"™

So no more smoking or seeing doctors for me. I've done my good deed and secured two Christmas boats.

Job Hunt

I hate looking for work. It's roughly my 378th favourite thing, right between dropping a bowling ball on my foot, and getting hit by a Mack Truck going 20 klicks.

It's been so so thus far, but the jobs that I've actually had any interest in applying for have been few and far between.

See, the last long term job I worked, I thoroughly enjoyed for the first three years I was there. I was passionate about it, didn't mind getting up in the morning, and so on.

The last two years were a living hell, especially the last six months or so. I was actually supposed to keep working there another six months, but by August of 2003, the thought of working another day, let alone six months there made me so crazy that I resigned on the spot.

So now I'm job hunting. Woe for me.

But I am going to try to stop being such a slacker, and get back to posting at least semi regularly. I'm also contemplating taking a crack at The National Novel Writing Month this year I think.

So to all of you who've kept checking this sad little blog, ta. And to those who've stopped checking ta ta.

I don't make friends easily

Never have really. That's not to say I don't have great friends, I certainly do. I just don't make new friends with any sort of regularity.

I think a big part of it is that I don't like people. People for the most part are stupid, lazy, self-centered, rude, and can only be depended on to do what's best for themselves. I think it'd be more accurate to say that I hate people.

The events in New Orleans, and all along the Gulf Coast have only served to reinforce that for me. True, there have been some really great stories of heroic people, saving others, behaving selflessly and so on. But I think these stories appear a little more heroic than they are due to all of the bad shit that went down there as well. Humanity as animals.

All of this crap just makes me hate people more and more. If I go out in the city, there's bound to be at least a half dozen people who do something so painfully stupid, ignorant or self-centered that I want to beat them about the head with a shovel.

I am slowly in the process of developing Wal-Mart voice. Mare and Jenn both have teacher voice, designed to bring unruly children back to order; I'm getting WM voice to teach people the proper way to behave in public.

"Hey lady, less gawking, more getting-the-fuck-out-of-my-way."

"Mister, pay attention. The shit that is your brain is dribbling out your ear."

"Well done Captain Fuckwad, between you and your ill-behaved running and screaming spawn, you've done your best to ruin everyone's day."

Seriously people, the world is going to hell in a fucking hand cart, and your average person on the street seems too damned stupid to realize that they're not just on the street, they're *in* the friggin' street! Pedestrian 0, Chloronating the Gene Pool 1.

The thing that alarms me though is that I'm losing my filter. I was in Hell-I-mean-Wal-Mart the other day, and this kid was screeching at the top of his lungs because he couldn't have some toy. Mom was either oblivious, or had recently read the back cover of a new age parenting book that said you're supposed to ignore everything that pops out of your uterus. So at the top of my lungs (1.5) from three aisles over I shouted "Enough already!" and the kid shut up right away. I'm not a parent, I don't have any special skills other than a knowledge imparted by the back of my Dad's hand as to how children should behave in public.

I pulled one public temper tantrum when I was a kid. One. And my mom whacked my ass right in the store, marched me out to the car, and took me home. And at 4 years old, I suddenly knew what was acceptable in public, and what wasn't. My brother and sister were the same way. We were allowed one tantrum apiece, and that was it.

I don't advocate beating kids, but kids are not small adults. You can't reason with a 3 year old. You tell 'em what's what, and when they don't behave there have to be serious consequences to their actions. Kids who understand that there are consequences to their actions don't grow up to be teenagers who act out, adults who have no concept of reality or whatever.

If I ever become a multi-millionaire, I'm going to patrol parking lots with a sledge hammer. Every time someone does something stupid with there car, I will hit it with said sledge. And then write them a cheque to cover the damages.

Maybe I should hold out for billionaire.

Cooke

"People call me Cooke."

"Why Cooke?" she gazed over her coffee. She normally would have thought this was a bad idea, talking to a guy in a diner. He seemed harmless though, and he certainly was cute.

"James Markham William Cooke is a bit of a mouthful."

"Why not James, Mark, Bill, or Jim or something like that?"

"Only my mother called me James. And my ex called me Jim. Everyone else calls me Cooke."

"So what do you do Cooke?"

"I'm an analyst for the government," he touched his lightly greying temple. Control, he breathed.

"Really, that must be... uhm..."

"Painfully dull," he finished. "It is. What about you Karen?"

"I work in accounts receivable for DataCorp," she grinned. She'd started the job only weeks ago, and was proud of herself. It was a real grown-up job, making real grown-up money.

He smiled at her, happy for the obvious pleasure she took in her job. "Could I call you sometime?"

Karen paused for a moment, pursed her lips in exaggerated thought before fishing a pen from her purse. "I'd like that."

Da-da-da-da

So I've been quiet... sue me. This job search thing really sucks. What with all the effort of finding a job whose description doesn't make me want to hang myself, then the additional effort required to compose a cover letter, tweak my resume, and then send it off... and from all this. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

So, I'm taking today off, and doing a little writing. And reading. And perhaps, in honour of the first week of school, some 'rithmatic.

I've (re)discovered in the past couple of weeks that I don't function well without some structure in my life. If I don't have a reason to get out of the house almost every day, I get lethargic and cranky. I guess I'm saying my days of being gleefully unemployed are at an end.

I'm now surli-ly (did I just type that?) unemployed. Sans-job-in-a-surly-fashion if you will.

By the way, if House is not the finest show on television, I'm not sure what is. And the first person to say Arrested Development gets a kick to the crack. I've watched it, I don't like it.

Thanks also for the lovely comments, even though I've been a slacker. You are all wunderbar!

Angel of the Silences

Sorry for the long quiet period, the vacation took a lot out of me. That and I've been trying to keep some semblance of order in my life while I'm gleefully unemployed, so I've been trying to keep my computer time structured. My apologies to you all, I have been lax in the whole blogging thing-a-ma-gummy.

Anywho, the job search is going so, so. Not really into it right now, but have managed to send out a dozen or so requests for auditions.

This past weekend was the first wedding in my family for 'The Kids'. My cousin got married, with all the requisite drama, and Gal got the meet the rest of the extended group of people I don't particularly like much. ;) Except for the fact that I couldn't get drunk no matter how hard I tried, a good time was had by all. Or at least Gal and I.

I'm going to make an effort (half-assed though it may be) to get back to regular posting. Thanks for all the lovely comments while I was taking my 'nap'.

Home Safe

Shh.... sleeping.

I needed this

Did I ever. The trip has been fantastic and very restful. Being here for a week is so much better than trying to squeeze a visit into two days.

It's great to reconnect with friends; even though we keep up on each other's blogs and I feel closer to them than I have in years, nothing really makes up for face to face hijinks.

I think that this little group of friends is a bit of an oddity (and not just because we're odd). Mare and I chatted a bit about this; none of us have inter-dated, we've all been friends of varying degrees since at least high school. Few of us are married, though right now I think is the most of us who have been in serious relationships. Few of us have kids.

It's kind of hard to define who are the Usual Suspects, and who are only occasional suspects. For the last few years for certain, I've only been an occasional suspect. Involved in the big events, but absent for the day to day stuff. Certainly there's been additions to the group, some of whom I've met over the last week. And they are all lovely people.

It's also nice to come home. Painful in some ways, wonderous in others, but all in all, pretty good for me.

As I was driving around earlier the week, taking in the changes to the city, I stopped a couple of different places that held strong memories for me. Most of the strongest memories come from a time when I wasn't exactly the happiest cat around. I thought to myself, you know, you've had some incredibly shitty times in this town... but almost immediately, I remembered all the good times as well. Now it's the good times I remember most clearly.

That's not to say I'm ready to come back. I've got too much to get out of my system first. But it's nice to know that things (and I) haven't changed so much that I wouldn't fit in if I did come back.

I guess I've made peace with the life I had here, the demons I wrestled with then are just wisps of memory. I don't feel like I'm running any more. I also realized how much I love the life I have now, and how ready I am to get back into it.

Bravo to you all for being the best friends I could hope for.

Incommunicado

I'm going to be out of touch (but oddly enough, not out of time) for the next week, as I embark on a road trip out east.

I'll get myself on a regular posting schedule once I return, and will hopefully be able to regale you all with tales of my wayward travels and gypsy lifestyle.

And then I gotta find a job.

Ciao!

Done

Watch me do the last day dance!

...

Pretty impressive, no? I'm now gainfully unemployed.