I’m not depressed.
But if you were depressed, I imagine you might have gotten up on Sunday feeling like you just couldn’t do any of the things.
So maybe you accidentally start by scrolling through Facebook on your phone–an immediately regrettable decision as everything on there is insufferable.
So maybe you decide it would be best to just watch more TV while you eat your second million-Weight-Watcher’s-points-bagel (because who can count points at a time like this?!) and figure out which real thing you should try to attempt first.
And then maybe there’s a really excellent movie from 1994 on Channel 5 starring Macaulay Culkin and Ted Danson with a really catchy title.
And you think, gosh wasn’t Macaulay a cutie but what the hell is up with Ted Danson? Like, he looks like the Beast from that weird-ass 1980s version of Beauty and the Beast. He just is not cute, not cute at all.
And to make things worse, Ted Beast Danson has been given this hairdo in the ‘film’ that basically, well, basically it’s a mullet. Like it’s just his normal awful poofy comb back with an added low ponytail. Look at this thing:
Look at it!!! It’s like a drowning rat clinging onto the back of his neck struggling for survival. And it’s genuinely concerning that this thing, this neck-clinging creature might get little Timmy. Because, yes, Macaulay’s character in this movie is named Timmy.
Then you need to google Macaulay Culkin to see how he’s doing these days only to confirm an unfortunate demise that you sort of suspected in the back of your mind but hadn’t fully investigated or come to grips with.
So you’re eating your bagel and contemplating Ted Beast Danson’s rat hair and Macaulay’s demise with an awareness that you’re doing all this instead of responding to several messages from other living humans or addressing your to-do list. The to-do list that is not written in your bullet journal because you’ve gotten so bad at keeping the bullet journal this month because things have just fallen a bit apart and there’s no time for reading or writing or music. But there’s time for Ted Danson and his mullet. Always, always time for that.
So you consider maybe you could start with making the bed. But the cats are asleep on the bed and let’s face it, you are a slave their every whim and if you wake the tyrannical ginger one he will make you do things for him. Plus it’s much more pleasant scooping his shit out of the litter box when he’s not there meow-yelling at you to feed him so that he can generate more poo, never ending poo, always poo.
Anyway, somehow you are able to pry yourself away from Ted and Timmy before it’s too late, before you’ve watched the whole movie and are filled with a fresh sense of self-loathing. But what now?
So you decide that maybe you’ll feel better if you conform to cruel patriarchal conventions of beauty and spend the next hour shaving your damn legs. And then that’s done and you feel exhausted and like you couldn’t possibly cram another activity into this Sunday but there are huge big massive things you are avoiding like job applications and visa stuff. And you consider that it’s kind of like the tupperware of black beans and rice that you know, you KNOW has been festering in your work bag out in the hallway since Friday. But you just can’t bring yourself to open the bag and address the mouldering, abandoned daunting as hell lunch that lies in wait.
Indeed, eventually, the black beans and rice drive you from the house and you somehow find yourself at the gym. This event necessitates you taking a second shower and washing your hair. And that’s done and you do genuinely feel a bit better because there’s nothing quite so nice as having clean hair. And you really are privileged to enjoy a two-shower-day. So you start feeling guilty.
Then you consider texting your friend but you know you can’t, really, because she is going through this objectively terrible thing right now and you feel so sad and worried for her combined with further guilt about your unidentifiable issue.
So at last you buck up and proceed to clean the house because that is what you do. But each overturned rock reveals like a hundred worms and you sort of just want to put the rocks back and not know about the worms, pretend like they’re not there, it’s FINE.
By now it’s late and the black beans and rice are still in your bag and you still haven’t found a new job. So you get up and hurl the entire tupperware container in the rubbish and that’s taken care of. And you sit down at your computer to examine your options for the future, now, at 10pm. You can see immediately, immediately you determine that they are not good and there’s no way to feasibly do the thing you want to do nor is it any longer possible to complacently do the other thing so…
So instead you write a blog post about what a day might look like from the perspective of one who occasionally retires under the blanket of melancholy/the bell jar–something of which I have no personal experience (because I am not depressed) but can, it turns out, imagine quite vividly for some reason.
But now it’s 1 May and that means a new month and a new leaf available to be turned over. So I’m going to pick up my bullet journal and make some damn plans.
Just as soon as I finish watching the good version of Pride and Prejudice for the 80 millionth time.
xWG // #dazeandweekes