What I am Doing

As of late:

I've been seeing a therapist. She's a very nice lady who seems more like a professional friend than an analyst. Apparently, I'm clinically depressed. Not manic or bipolar. Just depressed. Often suicidally depressed, which rarely turns-inside-out into anger.

I haven't had a drink in nearly a month. But I still smoke a bit. Usually three a day. Sometimes more. Sometimes not at all. One bad habit at a time.

I've been attending some churches. I think I prefer the high church to the regular ol' Sunday-go-to-meetin' gigs. Reason being: the only guess any of us can hazzard about the divine is that God is intrinsically unknowable. Mystical, man. Therefore, I like the churches where they chant in foreign languages. That way they don't say anything I might disagree with, thus ruining the experience of worship with their own biased interpretation of ancient texts, Americanized psuedo spiritualism, covert politics, and veiled messages to specific congregation members. I still haven't found my spiritual home base, but I'm searching ...

No. I don't have a girlfriend and I still work at a retail opearation where they treat me like a boy (even though it is a wonderful company which meets with my every approval except that they fully underestimate me ... their loss, I believe). However, I refuse to commit to print anything about any future possibilities (re: love and money) for the simple reason that I (quite superstitiously) don't want to jinx anything.

Improvements are coming. But I ain't forcin' nothin'.

I have taken a great interest in home repairs -- some from necessity, some from keen enthusiasm. I've learned a lot from a couple of handyman friends of mine and numerous trips to Home Depot. The three of us recently finished a monstrous bathroom project, and now I intend to lay down tile in said bathroom. Note: plumbing can be fun until the uglek starts bubbling up into your work space. Yech!

I'm working out with weights again and, thanks to the phsycial nature of my job, can still run long distances even efter taking a considerable hiatus from the tracks and trails.

My dad is now, and forever, my official hero. This year he kicked the collective asses of two kinds of cancer, staph infection, C-dif (an intestinal rot), and something called mersa. He has gained back twenty of the forty pounds he lost during chemo and, last week, he drove a car for the first time since falling ill. Here's to you dad! You da man! I should mention that my mom had to tend to him and clean up the mess. A real Florence Nightingale, that one. Maybe she's the real hero.

p.s. I'll cheer for Obama when the economy improves and the troops come home. I pray that no idiot white supremacist draws a bead on this man, because it would be a disaster for all of us.