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Jan. 30th, 2004 07:13 pmWell, hoo-rah -- it is all the way up to 9 below zero right now, which actually feels pretty goddamn mild in comparison with the 24 below zero that prevailed this a.m. Tomorrow we are supposed to actually get *above* zero, for the first time in days, with god only knows what consequences; I might rip off my garments and run amuck.
Even apart from the weather, this has been a non-uplifting week; the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spike21 writes sometimes about the Voice of Depression that invades her brain, but I've been dealing with -- like, the Rhinoceros of Depression, which is either charging around knocking me over and trampling me flat, or else flopping down sullenly, in a big lumpish heap, and taking up all the space. Trying to fight it head-on is pointless; instead, I attempt to play the matador, twirling and dancing out of its way, and surreptitiously jamming a sword or banderilla into its warty hide as it thunders past. Light, light, be light, I keep saying to myself; and every once in a while I can manage that, but more often I get gored and trampled.
I got a phone call today saying that my old friend Bob died this week. He was my best friend when we were children, and lived next door to me, and we used to say that we'd get married when we grew up. When we actually *did* grow up, sort of, he married my high-school best friend, and I was the bridesmaid at their wedding, thirty-some years ago. And then they both became fervent fundamentalist Christians, and moved to a small town in North Dakota and had numerous children, and we lost touch with each other.
I knew he had some form of cancer, but I hadn't known how bad it was. He was four months younger than I am. The funeral is tomorrow, and of course I'll go, and will figure out some way to deal with a lot of people I haven't talked to in fifteen years or more, and no longer have anything in common with. I've been thinking of Bob, remembering him, grieving for him, off and on all day; but I have to admit, a lot of it is also -- well, It is Margaret you mourn for. Yeah. That.
Even apart from the weather, this has been a non-uplifting week; the lovely
spike21 writes sometimes about the Voice of Depression that invades her brain, but I've been dealing with -- like, the Rhinoceros of Depression, which is either charging around knocking me over and trampling me flat, or else flopping down sullenly, in a big lumpish heap, and taking up all the space. Trying to fight it head-on is pointless; instead, I attempt to play the matador, twirling and dancing out of its way, and surreptitiously jamming a sword or banderilla into its warty hide as it thunders past. Light, light, be light, I keep saying to myself; and every once in a while I can manage that, but more often I get gored and trampled.I got a phone call today saying that my old friend Bob died this week. He was my best friend when we were children, and lived next door to me, and we used to say that we'd get married when we grew up. When we actually *did* grow up, sort of, he married my high-school best friend, and I was the bridesmaid at their wedding, thirty-some years ago. And then they both became fervent fundamentalist Christians, and moved to a small town in North Dakota and had numerous children, and we lost touch with each other.
I knew he had some form of cancer, but I hadn't known how bad it was. He was four months younger than I am. The funeral is tomorrow, and of course I'll go, and will figure out some way to deal with a lot of people I haven't talked to in fifteen years or more, and no longer have anything in common with. I've been thinking of Bob, remembering him, grieving for him, off and on all day; but I have to admit, a lot of it is also -- well, It is Margaret you mourn for. Yeah. That.