Calming, Separating

Very stressed this week. I quit my job and haven't gotten my conceptual business off the ground. I have been putting off doing the laundry for two weeks. Not a success in business or domesticity. Plus, I developed a strange eczema on my eyelid, which puts a damper on public performances, which is supposed to be the reason I quit my job. Yesterday was a "depressed" day. I tried telling myself not to think thoughts that weaken me, but I wouldn't listen. Despite depression being a relatively sedentary state, internally it panics me. I feel caught in an overwhelming whirlwind of inactive action items.

Today I went to the doctor. The man who normally sits in the lobby had died. There was a sign on the wall. I've been going to that office for a good eight years, and he was always there, although I didn't know his name. His name was Gene. Well, how can you be depressed now, I thought? At least you're not dead. The doctor gave me a prescription and said it would "calm it down." I liked that. I needed something calm. Rite Aid was no help, so I tried a Polish pharmacy I'd never noticed before. They had what I needed and were very friendly. For seven years I have relied on the chain store, even though they never recognized me ("Have you been here before?" Yes! Practically once a month for seven years!). Why do we think that just because it's expanded and homogenized it's good?

A disappointing condo viewing threatened to push me back down, but I remembered I promised Sean I would d the laundry. Accountability. You want to make sure you do something? Ask someone else to hold you to it. While I was there, I ran into my neighbor. I found out he's a minister. No wonder his little family is so pleasant! (His wife and four-year old son came by this morning to return a plate to me and thank me for the brownies I put on it. Jonah had written a note, but was to shy to give it to me. Do I scare children? Anyway, it was sweet.) We talked about making your own hours and the discipline it requires. I realized that I have a lot to offer, but I can't do it all. I have to choose what to focus on. And if I have been putting something on my list over and over and I haven't done it, I think I'd better just do it or take it off.

That's when I separated from depression and rejoined the land of the living. I turned off "True Life: I Have Tourette's Syndrome" on MTV and put Boston's first album on the CD player while I made chicken soup from scratch for my sick hubby. I made a decision not to perform in an audience-vote competition tonight, which would be unnecessarily stressful and unfulfilling and would not advance my actual career. No longer a failure in business or domesticity. And no one had to die. Except Gene. Sorry Gene.