The only thing that can really keep me happy throughout the day is writing, thinking, inventing. And that is why I do this. I keep pen and paper close to my body and carry them wherever I go. At times I don't go anywhere and remain in the dark Nowhere of my confines, in relative solitude. Other times I go places, see faces, kiss lips and spend way too much money on nice things that nobody really needs, which is why everybody nice needs them so dearly. This message right here is going to be squarely about the former. "Aww, how disappointing!" says the reader to himself, in the dark Nowhere of his confines, in relative solitude, while thousands like him, in their own techno-bubbles, partake of the exact same event. Welcome to my blog, jerk!
How to handle solitude, how to handle depression, when you know that you'll be plagued by it for the rest of your life and that it sapped away the biggest part of the last 12 years of your life? The theoretical and idealistic answer is boring, as everybody who can read this, or the equivalent of it in his native language, can give it. Everybody who can draw a perfect circle in his mind can give it. We all got ideal answers and perfect solutions at our fingertips. Somehow those never end up in our hands proper. Who can picture a circle with a metallic sheen, one or two dents and billions of imperfections? That is what you will hold in hand, so you better be able to picture it, and picture it yourself, without anybody telling you, the next time, and every time when you are in need of a solution -- or even just in need of an answer that will lead to one.
Depressed people are very good at being ethical. They know the correct, good-and-proper answer to every philosophical question. Often times they can even write some pretty nicely structured sentences in languages that they've casually picked up through listening to gangsta rap lyric. Alas, they often times suck at providing real world solutions to real world problems, most of all their own.
Don't you just love blog posts that have "alas" in them? When "sadly" would have done just as well, if not better? How about self-conscious blog posts, like this here now? If it all succeeds in being ironic though? Then? Yes? Or...?
...Jerk.
So yeah, I'm as blue as the pope's balls after a day of playing Santa Clause for the boys choir. "Get offa mah lap for a sec, Jimmy, Santa has ta lift somethin' heaveh. Why? Just ta, uhm, get some fresh blood into his, uhm, legs. Nau, where's my big sack? Have you seen my big sack? It's heaveh wid salty gifts for da kids! Ah, there it is. Heave-ho!! Ahhhhh... whadda relief!"
Hm, yes, writing is like a heavy sack o' salty gifts when you're heaveh wid the blues indeed.
(Next time: Depression Sex?)
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