I’m officially in a funk. I’m not sure how to describe the nothingness it is. I don’t feel anything, I don’t think anything, I have no preferences or desires. If left to my own devices, I would slump around at home, staring into the vast nonentity of space that is my current existence. Reading this, it occurs to me that it would appear a gloomy outlook, but that perception would require something (which is more than my emptiness can muster).
It is times like these that I use my “go-to” plan…the one that sets me up on strict schedules with activities galore (or at least some busyness to pass the day with – anything but the stuporific state I feel.) The whole eat three meals and two snacks (which I promptly forget), feed the dogs (which I remember after 3 reminders to myself and the dogs whining at their bowls incessantly), do the dishes (unnecessary since I didn’t eat), shower (was it yesterday that I last took one? – the days kind of run together when you sleep through most of them.) walk to the mailbox (eventually – now where did I put my shoes?) thing. I write because God gave me that talent and it would be aberrantly sinful not to use it. It takes an incredible amount of discipline to fail this miserably while in this state, I assure you. Perhaps there should be awards or Olympian games of some sort – I can see it now “Depressives in action.” The audience would be gargantuan – they would all be depressive and not be able to rally themselves into the action required to become bored and leave. There would be a commissary prize for stargazing during daylight hours. The grand prize would be an uninterrupted nap.
On days like today, I know that work would be entirely out of the question. I could just see myself doing customer service with a blank stare and patent answer to each complaint…”uhhh…” would be my grunted reply. I picture myself wearing coke bottle glasses and a button up shirt, (buttoned all the way to the top.) high water polyester slacks and white athletic socks to match my penny loafers. All the while, giving a vacant look that screams “Nobody’s home here, so move along!”
Eventually time passes and the dogs demand the attention they require, saving me again from catatonia. Trusty Boyfriend/Knight In Shining Armor cooks something and forces me to feign interest in food. While he’s at it, he infers that I may smell interestingly ripe and desire a shower (how romantical is that? – my hero.) Perhaps he even loads up my toothbrush for me and picks out a new set of clothes. Ahh…the easy life. Every one should try this whole disabled thing – it’s easier than working. (?)