Depression is an evil bitch with no boundries.  A bastard without conscience.  When you least expect it, like a an evil pop-up ad, it invades.  And that is the friendly version.  Some don't know that this lethal disease is extant, around, within.  Others are aware;  pain-filled, watchful and dreading the next meeting.  Some have lived through it and have hope that they are now immune.

I am one of the hopeful.  My life is not worthy of complaint.  Everything is swimming.  Unless it's not.

A friend dies.  On the road to a new life filled with options, he crashes into a guard rail.  The first person on the scene, a doctor, says that he felt no pain.  But those endless moments before?  Today I heard about his death and then.... A beloved cat goes into, what, elderly failure?  As most of my cats are from the streets, having lost a pride to feline leukemia, I have no knowledge about elderly cats.  He's not in pain, but I am.

I've cried for hours about Hello Newman.  He has been with me for at least ten years.  There was a point in time when I almost gave him up.  This woman Clare was living in the apartment that is now our temporary kitchen.  She made it clear that she was not keen on cats.  Hello Newman taught her otherwise.  To the point where I considered letting him go with her when she left.  Cricket smacked me.

Well, no she didn't.  But she let me know that just 'coz Clare took a shine to Newman, and he to her, it didn't mean I should give him up.  One more reason to love Cricket.  Clare finally got her own place and her own cat, whom she named Edgar.  She's thrilled with Edgar's exploits.

I'm coasting on the cusp of illness.  A tail end of a cold,  Working maybe a bit too much, when my advocate from the Pennsylvania Workers With Disabilities says that I should take it easy; one step at a time, kind of thing.  I may be trying to pay back too much too soon.  Or maybe not.

The thing is, that many of us try to get stuff done before it's due.  As a person with Bipolar II Disorder, which has nothing to do with bisexual Polar bears, but is merely Manic Depressive, I so understand.  I've spent a decade in and out of psych hospitals, so I am fully aware of the need to return to "normal".  Often there are monetary, emotional and psychological debts that need to be, at least, addressed.  A person coming back into the "real" world may face real or imaginary fears and "deadlines".

Let's face it.  If you are so sick that you have to go into a hospital, you will have some real life concerns.  Bills would be one of them.  Now, I could expound on this, but why?  Also, suppose you have some sort of mental break down.  Maybe you take some "sick leave", but you're still unwell.  You are crying uncontrollably, but you are showing up for work.  There is a deadline that you have to meet, the company is relying on you.  If you don't do your part, you will let everyone down.

Go home.  Call in sick.  Unless you own the biz-ness.  Then tell your own damn self that ya need a big ole break.

The problem is that all of us are suffering from the same damn thing:  The deadline.  Now you can gussy it up all sorts of ways.  Too young to date, too young to mate, teacher on the tenure track, preacher on the god-what track, mothers to be, mothers, grand-mothers and greats and all the way to Prime Ministers, Presidential hopefuls, doctors, veterinaries, artists, writers and the sweetness of life, of love; women, bursting forth in all their beauty.

But all of us have a clock.  A deadline.  Regardless.
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The deadline often has to do with death.  Hate to say it, but it's true.  People are often frightened.  They worry about every scenario leading up to the deadline.  What if they don't make it?  What if their solution isn't acceptable?  What if they're wrong?  Or worse, if they are right, or think that they are and no one else sees this?  This, I think is why there are people out there posing as leaders, when they are simply people who are whipping up a frenzied response to their own fears.

I'm very tired.  Newman has been up and down and Cricket, god bless her, is taking us to the vets tomorrow.  But I'm still up and rammy.  So, I'll toss this out.  McCaint is about death.  He gloms onto his POW experience, as a way of making us respect our lives. ( By the way, my Grand-father was a POW for five years in WWII, and I have funny stories to tell)....... He is using this war experience to frighten us into believing he has inner knowledge that we do not have.

McCaint suggests that Obama is friends with every kind of terrorist, from Ayers to, hmn, muslims.  Then he questions Obama's motives, when Obama tries to mediate, rather than attack another Middle East country.  There is more, of course, but I have to get up early to go to the vets.  It's first come, first served, they open at eight-ish, and if you're not there by seven, you're shit out of luck.

I'm wanting to stay awake with Newman.  A silly thing.  He will live or die, even if I sleep.

I've been babbling and writing nonsense, just to keep awake with Newman.  I'll post this, and sort it out tomorrow.