Category: depression

back to office

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It’s every bit as bad as I thought.

At least, I’m in a side room, not the main floor, but my boss is right in the room with me (though she’s cool – a cousin of my wife, though neither of knew the other existed prior to me starting there – she looks like a younger version of my wife).

It’s weird though, so quiet. I feel like I’m breathing too heavy, like everyone is watching me.

It’s creepy, keeping my back up.

Hopefully, I get used to it, because otherwise, the background stress of being there is going to kill me.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 702 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Infinity Concerto, Greg Bear
Comics: Fear Agent 13-16
Music: Even If And Especially When, Screaming Trees

on the verge

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Tomorrow, we start this back to week program. It’s only three days a week, but I’m not sure how that’s going to affect my writing schedule.

Weeks were I’m in now tend to be struggles to find time, because of the extra prep and travel time involved, but I had two weeks to catch up if things went off.

Now… every week, possibly three days where I’m having to get up earlier or stay up later or drop other things I need to do in order to keep up?

Or worse, postponing everything to try and shove them in Thursday or Friday, or that other time that we’re supposed to have time but don’t, a weekend?

I am fretting.

Yes. Fretting.

Okay, freaking out.

I want this life, and I’m tired of fighting myself for it; I certainly don’t need the rest of the world piling on.

The Mungk left me hopeless, fatalist.

Bad Neighbours only feeds my anger.

I don’t need any more anger.

I have always had more than enough.

Fuck.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 611 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Almayer's Folly, Joseph Conrad
Comics: Fear Agent 9-12
Music: Euphoria Mourning, Chris Cornell (god, I miss that voice)

day off

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I’m taking the day tomorrow. Mostly, because we’ve been asked to take care of our granddaughter for the day/weekend (yes, sir! No problem, sir!), but because I am spiralling. I’m really not in a good place for work.

I feel like I’m behind, overworked, disorganized, putting way too much personal pressure on myself to meet standards and targets, and that’s not just work.

It’s me, fucking myself up.

Self-destructing, as always, and wanting to scrap it all and start again.

But I’ve done that too often.

I’ve come too far and I’m out of time.

After all, Donald Trump’s fascist state may invade or bomb us at any time. The psycho’s capable of anything, if it feeds his sad, little ego.

So, yeah.

Taking the day tomorrow.

Fuck Donald Trump.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1106 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Fathom v6 8, Aspen Universe: Decimation 1-3
Music: The Essential (1955-1983), Johnny Fuckin' Cash

brian wilson

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And now, Brian Wilson?

Goddamnit.

Sly Stone I could take because I don’t have a lot of connection there, but I’ve been listening to Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys as long as I can remember (fuck Mike Love). We even saw them in concert when they (meaning Mike Love and a bunch of randoms) came to play at the bandstand in Tecumseh Park.

It was nice.

The innocence of it all hiding the troubled mind in behind… wouldn’t it be better if Brian had sang what he wanted? If he’d sang about his pain.

Wouldn’t it be nice?

For Brian Wilson to be still alive.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 798 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Aspen Universe: Decimation 0, Fathom v6 5-7
Music: The Essential, Bruce Springsteen (fuck you, you probably don't know what Born In The USA is even about, you nationalistic prick)

sly stone’s dead

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I’m not really sure what that means other than a continued reaffirmation of the cycle of life and death, or the misconception that I had that he was already dead.

Not that I’m the biggest fan of the Family Stone, but there was some good stuff.

Death in obscurity; life in obscurity.

Death in Cheers; everyone knows your name; in life, as well.

Which end of the scale? Do we all forget Angela Cartwright and her sister? Do you know her sister’s name?

Who ran IBM in the Seventies? Who stood in front of the tanks?

Whatever happened to P.J. Soles?

There’s a strong chance I’m losing it; obscurity within the family unit has me lost.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1510 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Blackbirds, Chuck Wendig
Comics: Aspen Universe: Revelations 2-5
Music: Eponymous, R.E.M.

crashed out and cleaned out

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I’m exhausted, poor and in physical and mental anguish.

I just want connection.

Love.

Time alone.

Time to relax, recharge, catch up.

The most love a person could show me would be to allow that to become true.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 727 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis
Comics: Fathom v5 2-5
Music: End Of The Century, The Ramones

thursday

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Yep.

It’s fucking Thursday.

Jerks.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1277 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 5-6, Fathom: Kiani v2 0-1 (who the fuck let Scott Lobdell take over this franchise; the man clearly didn't get the subject matter and just wanted to write another fucking DC or Marvel superhero book)
Music: End Hits, Fugazi

every day something new

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That used to be my motto for writing, or learning, exposure to different things, methods of storytelling, experiences, etc., but sometimes, it’s nice to fall into an old comfort.

Especially now, when you’re convinced you have bowel cancer or an impending appendix explosion, and the idiot doctor that just provided you with substandard care blew it off as gas.

Old comfort. New discomfort.

Familiar discomfort.

Crippling depression.

What’s old is new again. What’s new is ultimately old.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1248 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 2-4, Fathom: Blue Descent 4
Music: Empty Glass, Pete Townshend

collapse

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This doctor thing has me spiralling. I don’t really want to get into it, but for some reason, I’m out of control depressed.

Fuck.

I hate this point.

It always makes me want to give up, begin again, or maybe not even bother with the second half.

Fuck.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1250 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 0-1, Fathom: Blue Descent 2-3
Music: The Empire Strikes First, Bad Religion (angry music sometimes helps)

end me, week

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I don’t think I’ve felt this down in a while. I feel like everything is collapsing, and my usual techniques are not up to par.

I am working on it.

Part of me wants to burn it all down and start over (a-fucking-gain), but I’ve come too far and have too little time left to begin again.

At this point, it’s finish the chore of living or give the whole thing up.

I’m not sure what’s worse – trying constantly to make it and failing, or not bothering with it at all.

At least I’d have more free time if I gave up, more time for my family.

But this is the driver; I feel like walking death when I don’t let it out.

Let it fucking out, or let them fucking in. I don’t know which one is worse.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1084 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Thieves' World, Assorted Authors
Comics: Fathom: Kiani 4, Fathom v3 0-1, Aspen Showcase: Aspen Matthews 1
Music: Emigre, Anti-Flag