I didn’t leave the house yesterday. I might not leave today; yet I feel my mental health is improving. Perhaps the Prozac helps, maybe it’s just seeing both my therapist and my psychiatrist. It could just be time. In any even I was able to edit photos yesterday. That’s a start, I have some more difficult things to do but it’s something. The pictures are pretty good.
https://sway.com/s/ElfcC1R7LUs1yQRE/embed
https://sway.com/s/vZkw46Kj0On5wEtz/embed
That’s my first time using Sway, I have no idea how it’s going to come out. I can’t make the OneDrive albums work. It says the album isn’t on OneDrive, it is. This gave me an excuse to write new captions.
I woke up this morning to aches and pains. Let’s see if I can list them all. My left elbow and shoulder, my right shoulder, my pelvis near my coccyx, and some that are eluding me now. None of that makes me feel old. Those are problems in specific parts of my body, not me. When I wake up I walk like a penguin. That’s been true since I was a kid. It takes a while before my ankles loosen up.
I’m coming out of my depression; that’s part of what’s making the entry ramble. When I’m depressed I plan long blogs on the things making me unhappy. I have to be extremely depressed to post them. I did so more in the past before I was in therapy and I regret them. I should never write about other people when I’m depressed. The problem is that when I think of what to write now that’s what’s coming to mind. I know I came up with something funny and personal last night and it’s escaping me. That’s what I want to write. I want an insight into myself, an amusing one. Yesterday I wrote one of my didactic, “this is how to be a better person” entries. I’m find writing those, but they come off as scolding and I rarely get feedback on them, let alone positive feedback. It’s nice to know I’m not writing in a vacuum. Vacuum is one of my favorite words, it has consecutive “U”s in it. Do you know any other words like that? Ah, that triggered my memory of something I wanted to write. If I ramble enough sometimes I reach a part of the wilderness of my mind I recognize.
In another entry I wrote that I started writing a song, Prozac Nation as I walked from therapy to the train station. The words were just fillers, what I liked was the melody. My problem is that I can master words and numbers, but music masters me. Ironically this entry is an example. Even if I forget what I was going to write I can reconstruct it. I can reconstruct math and science. I can’t reconstruct music. I have plenty of musical ideas, but I don’t know where they come from or where they go. Once they are gone, they are gone for good. I have no way of cataloguing them. Under similar circumstances I started writing a poem months ago. Even though I haven’t written a word down since then when and if the mental fermentation is finished I can still write it. I have the blueprint. My mind can’t process music like that and I regret it. I love music. It’s the finest of the fine arts. I have an affinity for it. Yet I have no control over it. I get more than my fair share of ideas and they are wasted on me.
That wasn’t as amusing as I hoped, it wasn’t funny at all. Perhaps it was enlightening. I know exactly what I was trying to convey. I can only hope it connects with you. Now I want to connect with breakfast and coffee. I made cold brew, so I don’t have to make it; it’s one of those days where I need coffee to make my coffee.
Wise Madness 