I cannot agree that, as the song by the Mamas and the Papas begins, it is so good to me, but I’ve heard that its child is fair of face and has just learned to tie its boot lace. See how they run!
I have not been running in a long while, except for a few occasional paces when I’ve mistimed a traffic light and want to get across the street before the light changes. But I have been walking a lot. I walked back to the house from the train station on Saturday as I had on Friday, and there was no sign whatsoever of the bus that was supposed to have come, nor frankly the subsequent bus.
It was good exercise, though, and I’m pleased to report that I had no blistering nor unusual ankle soreness on Saturday evening or yesterday, so my body is adapting to the walking. That’s a pleasant thing. It doesn’t seem to be having any positive impact on my mood disorder(s), contrary to hopes and recommendations, but there’s no treatment that works in absolutely every case.
On an utterly unrelated note, I’ve noticed that, on my phone’s keyboard, if I hold a letter down, it lets me type what is usually a Greek letter using that key. For instance, ß. That was the “s” key held down. If I press the “o” key*, I’m given several options, including ø and ó and ö as well as ōthers. That’s kind of cool.
Now if only the auto-correct could stop adding apostrophes to “its”, then I would be quite grateful. It’s mortifying to think that I might have published a post with “it’s” when it should be “its” because I didn’t catch one of the occasions when the program wrongly replaced my correct lack of punctuation.
I suppose it’s not really important.
Yesterday was a particularly dreary day for most of the day. It was raining out, and I did my laundry in the morning. I did speak on the phone to my sister in the evening, and that was quite nice, but otherwise I just lolled around doing nothing but watching random YouTube videos or similar, many of which I’ve already watched before.
YouTube seems to be having a harder and harder time finding videos that interest me. I don’t know if the algorithm has changed or what, but when I go to the main screen and it shows me the layout of recommended videos, the vast majority are just not worth checking out.
Possibly the problem is with me more than with the algorithm. Probably. Almost certainly. I’ve lost interest in more and more things as time has passed, especially very recently. I’ve already mentioned how I can hardly even find any interest in reading books that I ought to enjoy, even books that I have often reread and enjoyed every time.
New movies and shows are almost completely uninteresting, and old movies and shows are mainly boring or bring back melancholy memories. The only new thing that I’ve really become interested in is Doctor Who, but I’ve watched every episode already, repeatedly. The next new episodes‒three specials‒don’t air until November, in honor of the 60th anniversary of the show.
I appreciate their sense of ceremony and remembrance, but I don’t think I’m going to survive even close to that long. Facing the nine months between now and then feels like facing a lifetime sentence in a sensory deprivation tank, or perhaps a trip through Stephen King’s “jaunt”, from the short story by that name, without anaesthetic.
How long would one need to be in total sensory deprivation before it no longer mattered how much longer it would be, because the subjective experience of time would utterly come loose from any objective sense, and all of one’s reality would become like dream time? After that happened, could it really matter if the remaining time was long or short? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. And finding out would be difficult and risky, especially for someone whose mental health is tenuous at best.
I wish I could stop trying to pretend to be pleasant or happy or upbeat or whatever it is people want. There are people out there who always ask, “How are you?” or “How are you doing?” or similar questions, and it’s rude and inappropriate to reply, “I hate my life and wish I could work up the courage to kill myself,” so I often just sort of freeze up and shrug and don’t know what to say. It’s fairly maddening.
I would like to scream and shriek and howl, and I feel as though it must be obvious how horrible I feel most of the time, every day, but weirdly, no one seems to notice. I don’t understand. No wonder I don’t “identify” as human.
I don’t know how I’m going to get through another week. I don’t know why I’m going to get through another week. Sooner or later‒knowing me, probably later, unfortunately‒I’m not going to get through another week. I would say that it will probably happen without warning, but I’ve given plenty of warning. Let’s just say that, as with most catastrophic failures of structures and systems, the buildup and the deteriorations are long and the evidence is there, but the final collapse is likely to be sudden and startling and to seem to come from nowhere. I doubt it will even be very interesting.
I don’t think there’s much that I can do about that, though. It’s all but out of my hands.
*Not to be confused with the “doe” key, though they are often pressed one right after the other.
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