Sick (and tired)

And tired always followed sick. Worst beating I ever got in my life, my mother said, “Well I am just sick,” and I said “And tired.” I don’t remember anything after that. ~ Cosby

I dreamed up a big blog entry about my state of mind, and then it turned into a kinda thesis on depression, then I thought maybe I should just not write anything, then I thought I’d post something funny, and then…

Fuck it.

I’m tired of this on again / off again depression. I’m sure my family is beyond sick of it.

Nutshell: Depression, for me, means not being able to find pleasure in anything. I can’t enjoy my kids, my wife, my work, my life. Stock market up? Big fucking deal, it’s gonna crash again tomorrow. The sun is out? Too hot, and we need rain. It’s raining? Well, shit, feels like we never see the sun.

It’s endless. But then, there are good days, mixed in, where I see beauty and realize maybe there is a purpose to life and think there might even be a happily ever after.

(just in case you were wondering, today isn’t one of those days)

I’m coping, but far from thriving. I’m lacking in so many areas it isn’t funny, and it’s spreading to my home. I feel like what’s-her-name on Xmen that kills with a touch, I’m feeling pretty toxic.

Gee, aren’t you glad you stopped by today? You’re welcome 🙂 It’s just part of the service we are unhappy to provide. And I’ve gone and done exactly what I didn’t need to do, which is whine again about feeling depressed. Like that ever does any good.

hazards of installing the baby monitor backwards

Too funny:

You know, parenthood can be spectacularly unsexy. Now, I’m sure there are people who would vehemently disagree with me on that statement — possibly while gesturing to the Sybian lurking in their hall closet, ready to erupt into full 120 RPM power as soon as the kids go down for their afternoon nap — but as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing like living with a toddler and an infant to really put a cramp in your style. I mean, there’s the spontaneity issue, or should I say lack thereof; there’s the issue of feeling physically drained after a day of dealing with pint-sized dictators; and as the mother of two boys, there’s a nontrivial amount of head-fuckery that goes on when you deal with miniscule penises all the time and you’re suddenly confronted with an adult-sized one. It’s like . . . well, it’s a little like seeing some kind of freaky, yet faintly comical space creature. Like something in the Mos Eisley Cantina.

(”Hi, I’m an admin for a group called Exotic Sex Toy and Nerdy Star Wars References, and we’d love to have this added to the group!”)

…

It’s not all flaccidity and granny panties, of course, but these days when I think of the letter G I’m more apt to think of General Audience than spot, you know? The other day JB joked that while he’s out of town this week I should invite a girlfriend over to “help me out while he’s gone”, wink wink nudge nudge, and when I rolled my eyes and asked him who in hell he thought I could shanghai into pitching in with round-the-clock diaper changes he said no, not that kind of help, har de har hoo heh ha, and I was all, whatever with your stupid lesbo fantasy, dude, I’m staring down the barrel of another week of solo shit-shrapnel duty over here and my brain has no room for hot girl on girl action, not even if it was Angelina Jolie sporting those Tomb Raider thigh holster deals and a support team of French-speaking nannies.

Please go read it all.

Update:

It occurred to me that some of y’all may have no clue about what the title of this post is about. It was a comment a long time ago, and I’m pretty sure it was Jeff Foxworthy who made it, about how they didn’t realize they had installed their baby monitor backward. They just thought they had a kid that was a really good sleeper, but then one day the baby sat up and said “Oh, yeah, baby, right there, YES!! I love it when you do that!”