depression

This was in my email today, and it (naturally) strikes a chord. I say naturally because, well, it’s Calvin:

Read on to see why this is timely…

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Okay, I’ve gone past the point of ridiculousness. (and it’s crazy that I spelled that word without looking it up. For reals)

This week I’ve written a couple of NPR-ish posts about the evils of the world that bug me. And today, while I was driving back from grabbing a salad at lunch (to deal with The Fat), it struck me - I really do need to get over myself.

The world truly seems to be going to hell. I could provide links, or a list, like I have. Want some highlights? Housing market. Economy. Jobs overseas. Clinton won’t shut up so McCain’s gonna win this bastard. Gas prices. Peak oil. Food shortages. Climate change. Endangered wildlife. Endangered sex life. Getting the wrong fucking Sweeney Todd in the mail. Ozone or not Ozone. Hurricane season. Our stupid government (all of them). (really). Whether a 270 pound forty-three year old man was ever meant to tie on a pair of shoes and go running. Whether my car will make it another year. Whether my paycheck will cover groceries and gas and still allow me to be an ass and go to the movies.

See? All that shit. Fuck that shit.

It just went under the bridge. Oh, there will be more. Lots more. It will keep coming. But I’m sick of being a dick and wallowing over shit that I cannot control. If I can improve something - I will. I will try. (I know, Yoda said “There is no try, only do,” but then he supervised the building of Darth Vader, didn’t he?)

The world isn’t ending. At least, that’s what I tell my kids. (”Dad, I think the sun’s going to explode.” “No, honey, not today at least.”)

Maybe I should start acting like I believe it, too.

My brain is mush.

Heard this today, still moves me after all this time.

Depression isn’t fun, or funny. It’s a slippery bugger, just when you think you’ve got a handle on it, it turns out it has you, instead.

Perhaps I should preface this entry with: it may self destruct, faster than I can.
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I know I joke a lot about feeling old. I’m only forty two (”WHAT DO YOU GET IF YOU MULTIPLY SIX BY NINE?”) but that isn’t the point, really.

You’re only as old as you feel, right?

It was almost a year ago that I ran my first 5K race. I had just finished the (fabulous) Couch to 5K plan from Cool Running. I wasn’t expecting much, but I finished, and ran about 12:09 minute miles. As of that time I had run ninety miles.

This morning I ran 5K in 11:30. I’m closing in on 500 miles for the year. Last August I weighed 255, this morning it was 263. I’ve cut way back on coffee, I drink bottled water, have high fiber cereal for breakfast (Colon blow!) many mornings, drink much less alcohol than I used to, and my blood pressure has come down considerably.

So other than being heavier and not much faster, I’m doing OK, I guess.

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