On Monday, I walked into the Chica’s office and said, “I think I might be a little, you know, depressed.” And she looked at me and said, “Well, DUH!” No, she didn’t really. But she probably wanted to. What she said was, “Oh, sweetie. I think maybe you are.” (A goddess among women, I’m telling you. If I walked into my office 15 times a day just to sigh and stare at myself balefully, I’d have ditched myself as a friend a long time ago. I don’t deserver her.) So I’ve taken most of the week off from work, and I’ve sat around a lot, and gone to the Acupuncturist, and read, and meditated, and prayed, and watched The Incredibles three times, and cleaned the parts of the house that needed it the most, and done laundry, and bought a Purple Blanket that makes me almost forget my lust for the Yellow Blanket, and slept and slept and slept, and made bread, and eaten bread, and had lunch with friends, and played with my kids, and moved furniture, and sorted paperwork, and gone for days without showering because if I’m going to be in a funk, dammit, I’m going to do it RIGHT.
Today, I woke up, and I felt pretty good. I felt as though I was happy to be here. I felt like I could probably manage my life again, in small doses. So, that’s my mental-health break, in a nutshell, and I want to thank you all for dropping by to see me (and aren’t you glad you didn’t do it in person, because did I mention? I went days without showering!) and for sending me your kind wishes and happy thoughts. You are all wonderful, and again, I am fortunate. I live a life filled with fortune. Sometimes it just takes a few days of sleep and bread and isolation to remind me.
Now, having said all that, this is one of the email messages that greeted me upon my return to work today:
From: Facilities Manager
Just as a precaution, I have called police to look
at the 4 bags that appear to contain dog food in the northeast area of our
parking lot. I looked at them, they appear to be harmless, but until the police
check them, please stay clear of that area.
With the discovery of bombs in a
couple different [city where I work] locations, best to be safe.
Not helping, people. Not. Helping. But actually, it just made me laugh, so I guess I’m back, if you know what I mean.
This sort of reminds me of the job I had about 10 years ago (before I had children, as will be obvious in a minute). For a while, we worked in a building that was near the county jail. Our offices were on the top floor, a preschool was on the bottom floor, and there was a picnic area on the roof. My friend Kim and I frequently worked overnight, pulling together project deliverables; daylight would find us drinking strong coffee out on the roof. On one such occasion, as we both stared glassy-eyed toward the sun rising over the prison, I said, “You realize I’m just waiting to be taken hostage during a jail break. I already have my escape route mapped out.” “Yeah,” she nodded, sipping her coffee, “I’ve thought about that. But I figure they’ll go for the kids first.” “Oh!” I exclaimed brightly, “I hadn’t thought of that! Then its all good.”
Yes, indeedy. It’s all good.
