Depression on the 1 to 10

I went running this evening for the first time in months. Mainly because I've felt like crying for the last 24 hours and I can't seem to shake it.

A few months ago, when I found myself swimming in sadness more than was legitimately healthy, I started thinking about suicide. Not actually contemplating it for myself, heavens no, but really just thinking about how it didn't seem entirely implausible for other people to off themselves, and how I was kind of surprised more people didn't pull the trigger, so to speak.

I remember thinking that you never hear about people who go out hiking or jogging or something and then decide to kill themselves. And maybe (this is just a guess here, I have done zero research to back this up) if some of those people who decided to jump off a bridge had decided to take themselves on a long walk in the woods first, maybe they would make another choice at that final grim moment. Which led me to the conclusion that if I ever feel really bummed, I should probably get my ass out into the world and get my blood flowing.

I did run the whole way, and my spirits are indeed on the rise, but unfortunately, about 2/3 in, I saw a giant Canada Goose with a bum leg, hobbling around looking awfully pained, and I just about lodged myself into Lake Merritt while my eyes filled with tears. Ridiculous.

My boyfriend told me that he thought I had been physically sick more in the last year than anybody he's known in his whole life. Statements like that don't tend to make the recipient feel much better. And if they're real examine-their-own-lives-to-a-fault type, they'll probably overthink statements like that so much that they create some sort of psychosomatic disease that keeps them sick forever.

This ain't no novel and I'm still not convinced that white type on a black background is indeed easier to read than the other way around, so I'll wrap it up. Fear not, you will not read about a 30-something white woman living in Oakland who slit her throat tonight for no apparent reason. Instead, I'm going to heat up some potatoes that I had previously undercooked (weird), over-easy an egg on top, drench it in green tabasco (the only tabasco that is worth anybody's time, in my opinion), and call it a day. If that doesn't brighten my mood, the nightly antics of a certain Girl Cat and Mr. Meowsers are bound to make me laugh before the gig is up.

I also hope New Orleans wins the football game.