Tag Archives: anecdote

Not About Sportsball

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This post is a little different.  From time to time, I actually do talk about other things, and some of those are serious. This is one of those.

Instead of posting a doodle and telling you how I think we should re-name “tennis” to “fuzzyball smackracket” because it makes more sense, I want to talk about this. (We may get back to fuzzyball smackracket another time, though. Dunno.)

This is National Suicide Prevention Week. I thought about making a smart-alec post about the 5 most epic ways to snuff it (number 5 was spacewalking without a suit, but Kubrick beat me to it) with the overall point being to give better alternatives, that suicide isn’t the right choice. But some things are just too big to fit into silly pictures and stupid hyperbole. Like this.

I’m going to tell you that if you are depressed and if you are considering suicide, don’t. Suicide is not your best option.  I’m not going to tell you it’s not a logical thought. I’m not even going to promise you tomorrow will be better.  Why? Because I know what it’s like to believe it IS logical and to have faced so many “tomorrows” that I no longer believed it could get better.

It does get better. But it won’t be tomorrow.  There’s no magic way you’re gonna wake up and everything will be perfect in the morning, but you know what you will have? The rest of your life, a life that will get better.

If you are suicidal or dealing with self-harm, go to the ER. If you can’t, call a friend. Call a doctor. If you can’t do those or you don’t think that you can talk to someone you know, there’s still someone to call.  Toll-free, private and 24/7, you can call 1.800.784.2433 or 1.800.273.8255. If you are hearing impaired, you can call 1.800.799.4889.

I have dealt with clinical depression most of my life. I have been suicidal for the majority of it. I’ve been hospitalized more than once. But you know what? I’m still here. And it’s been years since I wanted to kill myself. And no, my life isn’t perfect, but it’s so much better.  And it keeps getting better.

Suicide is a decision you can’t take back. It’s an act you can’t reverse.  Everything else in your life is something you can change or improve – unless you end it. Suicide is stopping your narrative cold. Please, don’t do that.

Every breath you take is another time you told depression to suck a bag of rotten weasel dung. It’s another battle you won. Every day you wake up, you’re a HERO.

Not everybody deals with depression. There are people who feel pretty good most days and live typical lives. They don’t know what it’s like to struggle to find meaning, to find a reason to go on. You know what? That’s great. I’m happy for them. But the resilience I see in those who’ve stared at the darkness of depression and decided to fight is incredible.

You don’t have to do it alone. There are people to talk to and programs available. If you are prescribed medication and can’t afford it, there are programs by manufacturers that can help with that, providing low or no cost meds. Finding the right meds is no fun. But the first time you realize it’s been weeks since you thought life had no point, since the end of everything seemed like the best idea? That’s actually a rush. And it can happen for you, too.

I wish this was something that could be sorted with easy platitudes. I wish there was a button to push to change it all. But it’s hard and it takes work. But more than anything, I want you to hear this: it is worth it.

I’m going to say that again because it’s true:  it is worth it. YOU are worth it.

Don’t take the step you can’t take back. Don’t let the darkness win.

Live.

And tell depression to suck a bag of weasel dung.

 

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Happy Anniversary!

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To me. Not you. WordPress helpfully reminded me I’ve had this blog for 2 years. Which helpfully reminded me I haven’t posted in more than 2 weeks. Which then gave me guilt, which is now making me feel sad.

Theoretically, I really am going to post more things. I mean, I’ve been drawing. But I took a few days off for my birthday, but then it turns out that the universe hates it when you act 7 instead of 34 and so it punishes you with Honk Donkey Flumoniantery Ebola Pox. And then, once you’re finally over that, you’ll have a fantastic migraine because screw you for not being an adult for 3 days, apparently.

Then WP will tell you you’ve been blogging here for 2 years and you’ll wind up with the aforementioned guilt and depression and find yourself typing up an entry so that the universe doesn’t decide to dump another plague on your head.

Can I quit now? I wrote, um, several words. That’s totally enough, right? Several?

I have no idea how many I’ve written because while you’re not seeing this till mid-day, I actually wrote it at butt:30 because that’s just how I roll.  Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, it’s butt:35 now and might be a different time by the point I actually click all of the settings. So I’m writing all of this in the far distant past.

Turns out time travel isn’t nearly as cool as we hoped.  :/

P. S. After looking at past tags I’ve used, I now want ice cream. I blame all of you.

Yes, But That’s Stupid

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That’s what I WANTED to say on a FB post earlier, one that reminded me why I normally like to pretend that FB doesn’t exist. This one was about something forgettable, but I realized I want to say it a LOT when I’m on Facebook.  Twitter, on the other hand, is full of brilliant and witty people with whom I actually engage in useful discussions.  Social media is awesome, except when it sucks.

Moving on, though, to the real crux of this post.  It’s about Google.

Listen, Google. You do great work. You’re really good at what you’re good at.  Hell, I’m even using Chrome right now on my Mac because you nailed the browser thing. Nailed it. I was a beta tester for gmail. Remember those days?  Back when people had to use hotmail or Yahoo! just to talk to each other? Dark days, my friend. But then there was Gmail. There was light. And 1GB of space. I know that sounds silly now that you’ve given us, what, 15GB? And Google Drive? I even briefly considered acquiring a Chromebook at some point in the future before my iThings ganged up on me and threatened my survival. Anyway, I’m just saying that there are things you are really good at and you should stick to those things.

This is the awkward part, though.

You’re known for creative thinking. Innovation. Doing stuff in a different way.  That’s why I was really sad to see the Google Doodle on Monday.  I mean, I almost didn’t even mention it because, let’s face it, I’m afraid you’ll take away my data or something. You hold the power in this relationship.  But remember last week when I invented the Quantum Reactive Schröedinger’s  Pie cult? Last week. Like, before Monday.

Okay, I know I didn’t invent Schröedinger or the idea of quanta reacting differently on observation, but I did draw pictures about it. Like… three of them. Maybe it was two. I don’t know, Google; I’ve had a couple Klonopin smoothies since then and it’s a bit of a blur.  But the thing is Monday, I saw this:

You and I both know what you did. Is this a cry for help?

You and I both know what you did. Is this a cry for help?

Really, Google, you could at least have been subtle about it.  This is just blatant. I really feel like maybe you need to talk to someone. Have you called your mother? Google, we can get through this, but you have to stop cribbing off my blog. Just admit you have a problem and, I don’t know, Google something. See? That’s another thing you’re good at.  You don’t have to keep following me online.  It’s a little creepy, sometimes, really.  I’m sorry. It just had to be said.  I think we might need some time apart — except for email and searching and browsing and storing things online, I mean. But all that other time?  Yeah.  I need space.

It’ll be okay, Google.  But I’m not letting you borrow my iPad again.

 

I really don’t think that’s a good idea.

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I’m spending some of the time my brain hates me brushing up on languages I used to be really good at. Specifically, I’m working on my Spanish and my German skills. At the same time. Because I’m an idiot. (Also because they are two different families – Romantic & Germanic – and don’t have a lot of overlap in areas that would be confusing, such as if I were doing Spanish and Portugues, French, Italian or any of those other languages with fewer than 9,000 declensions per verb form.)

Originally, it was a little bit depressing because it showed me how much I’ve forgotten. But then I started getting into it and realized I hadn’t forgotten as much as I thought.

Still, I think the people writing the lessons might be on crack. I’m pretty sure that horses aren’t supposed to eat bread and that making a duck drink milk might actually be a felony in some states…. They also reminded me that the soldiers aren’t green, the baker will not dance and that my mother is not a priest. They have some strong opinions.

But who knows? Maybe ducks really LIKE milk and I just never noticed because I’m lactose intolerant. Wow. Way to be self-absorbed AND enzyme deficient, me.

I do know how to tell you a straight up lie in German. It involves children happily eating onions. I also had to declare repeatedly in both languages that I am a man. (I’m not. That I know of, at least. Shit. Maybe this language program knows something I don’t and is just waiting till I’m fluent enough for them to spring it on me that I’m a dude and just never noticed. Way to make me paranoid, LANGUAGE!)

Dammit.

Oh well.  I fully expect to be bilingual by the end of the week. That’s realistic, right?

I’m usually smarter

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A couple of weeks ago, I entered an argument with a wall about who had the right of way.  Physics decided to back up the wall because physics is a jerk. The results of this miscarriage of science were several very mean thoughts, a ridiculous headache and a pair of broken specs that I could not locate.

See, I’m extremely nearsighted. Legally blind, in fact.  If you take away my glasses, the world disappears.  This doesn’t make you David Copperfield, though; it just makes my eyes pretty useless without adequate backup.  Did I mention this whole thing happened during an attempted potty break at 3 a.m.?  That might be TMI but it also kind of explains that it was dark and I didn’t shout words of anger at Newton just because it would have woken people up.  Because I’m considerate. Unlike science.  (The Jerk.)

I keep an emergency pair of older Rx glasses in a place I can reach even blindly because there are times I didn’t put my actual glasses where I thought I did when I fell asleep and therefore cannot function until they’re found.  But this happened on the other end of the house.  I had to navigate the entire obstacle course between my broken and unlocateable glasses and my not-broken, but not-particularly-useful glasses without any optical enhancement. In the dark.  I broke a toe.

I eventually located my old glasses, put them on my face and cursed because everything was only somewhat less blurry.  So this time, I hobbled half-blind, injured and cranky back across the dark house to locate broken glasses, assess the damage and attempt to fix them.  (I just really want to point out the jerkishness of science since I feel it played a vital role in making the night so miserable. Sorry all you science-lovers, but really, science is a jerk.)

If you cannot see, you should not attempt to glue things with any sort of permanent fixative.  Because due to the continued mean-spiritedness of science, they not only attach acetate earpieces to the rest of the frame, but they also attach your hand to the frame.  Possibly twice.  (Shut up.)

When your newly detached-from-your-hand glasses finish drying, you will put them on and realize that you have obviously done a very bad job.

Then you get to wait for almost 2 weeks for new glasses because science is a jerk and hasn’t invented teleportation yet.

So remember:  I’m not clumsy. Science is just a jerk.

It made more sense in my head….

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So there’s not really a post today, as you can tell because it’s all dark outside and I usually have a post up around lunchtime. But sometimes life demands that you take a day off.  Or possibly three.  And then life will troll you and you will accidentally have an allergic reaction, take a grown-up dose of benedryl by taking several pediatric melty tabs of benedryl and when your BFF wonders why you’re so out of it, you’ll tell her with a meaningful look, “ALL MY SKIN IS BEES” before falling dead asleep again.

Probably you didn’t have a stroke.  At least if you’re me.

And that’s a good thing. Which is really the lesson to take from this.  Not how to OD on baby benedryl. Because that is almost never a good idea.

What Jesus and I thought about the TX Lege on Tuesday

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Lots of people on Tuesday were claiming Jesus said lots of stuff.  Well, it’s a little known fact that I have his phone number, so I just called him up and asked him.  He was a little pissed, to be honest, but always a gentleman (unless you talk about that temple thing — just don’t go there), he just asked me to pass on a message to Representatives Cook & Laudenberg of the Texas Legislature since they seem to be getting it all garbled.  I wrote it down.

Jesus says NO

Seriously, just phone him. He’s fast about returning interview requests.

Anyway, he’s pretty tired of people with Ph.D.’s in Jesus stuff trying to legislate actual physical doctor stuff and blaming it on him.  He said if you actually earned your Ph.D. in Jesus Stuff you’d know better.

Just passing it on, y’all.