The Depression is Official

I can't shake it. I took the day off from work cause I knew I'd be out late last night. It took a lot of will power to get out of bed...at 1:00 p.m.

My place is cluttered and I need to clean it up. I have laundry piled a mile high. I have a dinner date with Rebecca tonight. And I'm not in the mood to do any of it.

I thought about calling Rebecca and telling her forget it. I don't want to go out tonight. But I'm going to force myself to go. What's the point of just sitting here and sitting alone in my misery. If nothing else hanging with Rebecca will let me forget my malaise for a while.

What makes me know this is a depressive episode and not some funk? For starters, I've suffered depression all my life and know the symptoms. The big key is my appetite. I'm hungry but I don't want to eat. I know I have to and will force feed myself in a bit but it's just not something I want to do.

My shrink say the depression is caused by a chemical imbalance. I buy it. My father suffered the same thing but my mom says when he reached age 40 he never went through another episode. I hadn't had an episode in two years so I thought maybe I was headed in the right direction. Guess not.

Of course there can be external triggers. I think one of them is not having a chance to see Sophia. I haven't seen her in a long time and it was one of the things keeping me focused when I had lost my driving privileges. I had hope for maybe starting something with her. Right now I'm in limbo with her.

I just might be flat out lonely. I'm not sure about that since this weekend and next weekend my social calendar is actually booked. I spent time with friends on Sunday and went to the game with Will. Tonight I see Rebecca. I work the next three days but on have plans for the weekend. So it's not like I'm sitting here wondering why friends don't call. They do and we have plans...so loneliness isn't an issue.

I thought maybe the holiday season starting might trigger it. I don't celebrate the holidays so I don't think that's it.

Hell I even missed my favorite Jewish holiday...Yom Kippur. It's been a running joke since high school about me being Jewish...I'm not...but here's the thing...I do celebrate Yom Kippur. It's a wonderful idea. The Day of Atonement. I don't celebrate by going to synagogue but I do reflect on the previous year. I asked God for forgiveness and I try to forgive those who some how may have wronged me. I try to let go of grudges. It's not just a day of atonement but a day of reflection. I missed it this year. Maybe I'll use Christmas as my atonement this year.

Rebecca just called. We are still on for dinner tonight. I gotta get moving. Laundry won't wash itself and the kitchen won't clean itself.

Signing off for now,
Your Fighting Depression Pope

The Strip Club, Angry Football and Some Other Stuff

Adventures in Titty Bars
One little thing I left out on my depression post yesterday is how I tried to solve it Sunday night. Like lonely bored bachelors, I decided the titty bar was the way to go. So I took out my allowance and went to a local club and not the one I usually drive out the city to.

I should have driven to the one on the outskirts of town. The one I went two had mainly my least favorite dancer: bleach blond with disproportionately huge boobs. I'll address the fake boob issue in a minute. But come on, I like some variety. Where were the Asian girls or my favorite trashy Hispanic women?

I finally spotted an older but very attractive dancer. She wasn't obviously older than the other dancers but carried herself with such sex appeal. Plus she was brunette and all real baby. Not a fake breast on her. I got a few dances and moved on.

Then, wow, to call the next girl I saw attractive, pretty or cute would be an insult. She was smoking. I mean down right gorgeous. Her face was beautiful. Her body was incredible. She was short with tight body. Her legs were stunning...yeah, I know, who looks at legs in a strip club? That's how beautiful she is. I paid her for a few dances. Oh my word, she stripped down to her thong and my mind is repeating,"Holy shit...she's fucking incredible...gorgeous...blessed." Her ass was plump and rounded nicely. Her waste curved in and not an ounce of fat on her body. None. She had small breast...B-cup at best. I know, you think guys like huge tits. I admit I like big nice ones but small ones are just as nice. I thought I would pass out.

Then I started to realize how young she looked. I feared that Chris Hansen from Dateline's to Catch a Predator would show up with cameras and ask me to have a seat.


In fact she reminded me of Rebecca's 15 year old daughter (who can easily pass for a much older girl) and decided enough dances.

Angry Football
Monday Night Football didn't work out for me. I love being at games but damn they sure put me through the emotional roller coaster.

Sex Identity Crisis at Work
I need to watch it. I have to quit referring to my coworker as the Sexually Ambiguous Person or "Hey, that dude, what's her name?" Word will get back to It and I'll be in big trouble.



Well that it for now with the still some what depressed Pope.

Good night.

Monday Morning Blues That Started Sunday

Not sure why I feel myself slipping into a depression. Or maybe it isn't depression but the "L" word...no not lesbian or love but "loneliness"? The Loner is Lonely?

Quiet honestly it is depression. I suffered enough of it over the course of my lifetime to know the symptoms. I don't want to get out of bed. I just want to sleep the day away. I don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything.

The first thing I did set a time to get out of bed. Okay, so it was 11:00 a.m. but I set a time and stuck to it.

I'm hungry but I don't want to eat. My buddy Will is off from work. I might call him and see if he wants to go grab lunch.

I need to clean up my apartment. It isn't messy but it's cluttered. So that's on the agenda.

I'm slowly upgrading my wardrobe. All my shit is either old or I'm tired of. I want some new nice stuff. Dress to impress. Or at least not look like a bum.

If going to the Monday Night Football game tonight doesn't snap me out of my depression nothing will. Football is my drug. It comes only for a short time each year (8 home games) so I suck it up like crack going out of production.

I've got plenty to do. So I just gotta grab myself by my scruffy neck, shake myself and get moving. I know the worst thing for depression is to let it fester.

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I just called Will to see ask him something. He sounded worst than me. He just called me back. He just told me his father is terminal. He didn't tell me with what. I don't think it's the Alzheimer but maybe something related.

I was going to spend Thanksgiving with them but they are going out of town to see their father. It might be the last one they spend with him. I'm sorry to hear that.
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Savages....You are all Savages!

My work week didn't get any better until Tuesday.

Monday was a total fucking disaster. Worst than Sunday. Incompetence breeds incompetence ad nausem. We are in fourth generation incompetence in some areas because of nepotism, cronyism and the good old boy network. The company won't call it that but we actually have legacy hires...sons, daughters and grandchildren of employees are hired not on qualification but relations. Sad.

Now back to Monday. How bad was Monday? I had to document all that went wrong to cover my ass in case someone tries to mess with me about it. I'll have it all written down by the end of the day for my personal records...sad that I have to do that to. I didn't have to resort to such things in my old department.

Then there is that bright spot in my life. That little sliver of hope. That ray of sunshine poking in through the clouds....yes I'm talking about Sophia.

I've stepped up my assault on winner her over again. Previously the last few times I asked her out she'd kind of stall. Then she asked me if I worked weekends. Then a couple of weeks ago she actually said she wanted to see me soon. Yesterday at the end of our nice short conversation she says again,"I hope to see you soon." That's where I stepped in and said,"That one of the reasons I called. I have some free time the next couple of weekends." She said she had plans this weekend but yes next weekend she should have time.

Well see what happens next weekend. I may try the jedi mind trick on her....

May the Force Be With You and the Pope. It's almost noon so I'm off to breakfast.

Adieu.
El Papa Juan Pablo III

It Doesn't Take Long....

....for work to piss me off.

I'm gone one week for a much needed vacation. I needed that down time away from that fucking zoo.

I try my best to get stuff done. I have no reason not to. One thing I don't understand about my crew is how they like to slack off and then have to hurry up to get work done before the end of the shift. I like to hurry and get my work done so I can slack off the rest of the day.

Today was a prime example. I wanted to listen to the football game at noon so I took my radio with me. I get all my shit together and just a few things to do in the afternoon. I sit back and enjoy the game. Simple.

Then my equipment went down hill after the game. Our equipment is total garbage. Instead of fixing things the right way, the technical staff just hold the place together with spit, rubber bands and duct tape.

I was actually instrumentation and not people that pissed me off. It took two days back from vacation and smoke was coming out of my ears.

On the commute back home today I was thinking hard about my job. I'd never quit and would be devastated if I ever lost my job. Despite all the bullshit, I'm well compensated for it. The only thing that makes my job some what tolerable is the pay and the benefits. If I got paid half what I make, which would still be pretty good money, I'd seriously start looking for another job.

I guess my job is like a drug. I was on the other side of the fence for years. I was a contractor for a few years before they hired me full time. It was a blessing. My pay almost quadrupled and added benefits. As a contractor I was employed by the whim of management. Now that I've tasted the pay of a full time employee I'm addicted. Add in the overtime and I'm hooked for life. There is just no other way to describe it.

Several years ago, in the first few years I worked for Big Mother Fucking Oil Company, my cousin asked me if I was planning on going to grad school. I almost doubled over laughing. The time it took me to get my engineering degree most students achieved their PhDs. I hated school. I hated working hard. I hated classes. My God, if I went to grad school, I'd still be there 20 years later. No I told him. I've reached my peak. I reached the pinnacle of my working life. I'm a lifer.

Jesus, as much as I bitch about the job, I remind myself with this, which few people can actually say: I'm set for life.

So despite all the bitching and moaning about work, I do remind myself that it is a blessing. Especially in these economic times, I do remember that. I have friends who have either lost jobs or took pay cuts. I can't imagine being in their shoes.

I've only been unemployed once. After I graduated, I went almost a year before I landed my first real job. And calling it a real job is marginal at best. Again, I started as a contractor and was making a dollar or two above minimum wage. I received a livable raise after I was hired full time. (Side note: It's also where I met Violet, go figure). After that I toiled briefly in the oil fields and almost went the roughneck route. If you knew me that would be the farthest thing you'd think when you see me.

The reason I started this blog was for therapeutic reasons. That's what I just accomplished. As pissed off as I am, writing has made me look back at where I was in 1995 and where I am now. A long way from scrapping by on $8.25/hour to make what I do now.

The therapy has worked...for a night at least...

Your Blessed Pope,
JP3