I checked Facebook when I got up this morning. It’s one of the routines that I do before getting up. I saw that someone had posted a picture of the Square where my Starbucks is has been caged off. It was a place where people would sit, smoke, talk, have their lunch, etc. Now they can no longer do that. Stupid city that I live in. I guess because they couldn’t get any money from the spot, they blocked it off. It pissed a lot of residents off, including me.
I feel better now that I had some sleep. Whatever happened yesterday with those stupid comments, I am letting go, even if it does still bother me. I plan on printing them out and sending them to my therapist so she can read them. I doubt she will be able to navigate getting to the comments unless I provide a link and she is too technologically illiterate to do it herself. My psych was supportive. She said it’s because I write so powerfully that people react in stupid ways (not exactly her words but that is the gist). A good friend of mine also came to cheer me up by telling me how proud she was of me and that she knew since the days we worked together that I would go places. That made me feel pretty good, coming from her. She is someone I deeply admire as she is so spunky. She is not one to let shit bother her, least not on the outside and will give shit back at you. I am glad we reconnected after all these years of not seeing one another. Since our job closed in 1997, I have seen her twice, both at reunions of our workplace. It is always good to see her. She still has flaming red hair, though it’s not as tall as it was in the 90s. She is a good friend and I am glad she said what she did.
I am not as depressed as I was yesterday, but that doesn’t rule out that I still could be tomorrow. I just never know how things are going to be. It is scary being this way. I know I said in the past I like being depressed because it is what I am used to, but yesterday I was close to being back in the hospital depressed. I really felt like someone should evaluate me and make the decision for me. I just didn’t know if I was going to spiral out of control or not. But today I am doing better, least for the time being. I did go to the Square and have my Starbucks. I will never again order extra sweetner for my coffee. It was way too sweet. I only drank about half of it. I also had a pumpkin scone. I wish I could make them but they take a lot of work and the icing is kind of tricky so it’s better bought. I still plan on making pumpkin cupcakes this weekend. My sister is having a BBQ tomorrow so maybe I won’t be the only one to eat them all, like my last batch. I will have to make it by hand as my mother’s mixer is out of commission. The motor finally broke down. It’s only about 70 years old. The mixer was my grandmother’s. After she died, my mother inherited it as she does a lot of baking.
My ankle/foot pain has been minimal the last few days, which I am wary about. Usually it’s like a calm before the storm. I did a lot of standing today so we’ll see if it flares up tonight or not. While on the bus home, I got up for my stop and the bus driver stopped short so I had to put extra weight to keep from moving forward. My foot usually flares right up when it happens but hasn’t so far. I hope it stays this way. I really don’t want to be in agonizing pain tonight.
I emailed the instructor for the class that I attended a few weeks ago. I wanted to tell her that the piece I read to her was the piece that got accepted in the New York Times. I had already submitted the article as I have been working on it for some time now. But thought if I made it better, it would be more acceptable. Turns out there were very few edits the editor had to make. I guess I made his job easy. I kind of wish he told me what the title of the article was before publication, just so I could have some say in it. But it didn’t occur to me till after it was published. I think about this now because one of my cousins didn’t like the topic. My mother still hasn’t said anything to me and another cousin thinks I should write other things. But writing about suicide is all I know, really. It comes from inside me because I know it so well, inside and out. I am not a love story or romance type of person. I couldn’t write about that even if I tried. It would be laughable, even in the “trashy” world. I am not a Hemingway or Virginia Woolf. Maybe one day I will change but for now, people seem to like my writing the way it is.
Baseball regular season is winding down. There are only about three weeks left. I don’t know what I am going to do without the nightly distractions. Because my Sox won’t be in the post season, I usually follow one of the teams, either National or American league, through the World Series. If they don’t make it, I move to another team. Then I usually concentrate on college and pro football. But it’s hard because the games are only one day a week. I remember last season was torture waiting for Saturday to come. It was like waiting all week for your favorite cartoons when you were little. (For those younger than I am and have no clue what I am talking about, ask your parents what I mean.) It’s especially hard now because I don’t have an internet game to play to distract me since the one I played shutdown. I haven’t found a replacement. I am just not interested in it. I played the game for more than 7 years. It’s a deep gap to fill. It was fun, annoying, challenging, and something to do. I made a couple of good friends through the years with this game. We are still friends even though the game has ended. I have slowly weeded out the friends that I was not close to. There were a lot, like more than 300. I think I have cut the number in half though.
You must be logged in to post a comment.