Could I be fighting off the black dog any more this week? God, enough already.
I honestly feel like punching the wall. In fact, earlier tonight when I was sitting on the toilet I tried, but missed. Probably a good thing. I'm enduring the job search doldrums, as so little hiring goes on at this time. I was so frustrated that I almost started packing. To go where, I don't know. And I'm not talking my clothes. I'm talking boxing my shit up for preparation of flight.
Hopefully, after working tomorrow I'll feel better. I went to a party last night and ate, drank, laughed. Cracked some wicked jokes. Stuffed the depression in a corner and dressed in a skirt, low cut strappy blouse and my knee high Ferragamo boots, then draped a beaded shawl over my shoulders. It was a quickly put together outfit but worked really well. I almost didn't go, but felt it was especially important to force myself when I'm feeling blue. And, it was with good result. I missed seeing the mayor/governor elect O'Malley at the party by a few minutes. Apparently he stayed an hour or so. The party was in a Bolton Hill mansion. There's another party this weekend in another mansion. Guess I'll have to throw together another outfit.
Another symptom of the depression is that I've been stewing too much. Therefore, I become too focused on negative things and can't right myself to shine my attention on the good ones. I was writing today at the coffee shop and just couldn't concentrate. I was fighting off anger and tears, but not a soul could tell. The words on my laptop would go in and out of focus as my thoughts drifted to far away land. And this wasn't a good land, but a murky, treacherous bog filled with snakes and quicksand pits.
No place for a girl wearing Ferragamo boots.