I woke up this morning, with Nigel Nancyboy and Zebedee Minky Star curled up around my legs.  I spent the day in bed, unable to move.  A picture in my therapist Doctor Ruth Greenberg's office shows two green highway signs.  One points to the exit for "Depressed For A Reason", the other to "Depressed For No Good Reason".  I believe I left via the former exit.

With Hello Newman dead and the joy of PMS cramps, I read, ate cucumbers and cheese and watched crappy daytime TV.  The latter is a sure sign that I'm not doing so well.  I finally dragged my sorry arse out of bed and took a bath.  Then I headed to the supermarket, having read some lovely recipes in Better Homes and Gardens.  Naturally, I didn't make a list.  That would have been smart and like Zebedee, I'm a few beers short of a case.

Driving down Delaware Avenue to Superfresh, I listened to "Play" by Moby.  It began to dawn on me how sad I felt.  By the time I got to the shop, I was in a pathetic state.  Dazed, I wandered as if lost.  I picked up some ginger root, three cans of corn and bought frozen Brussels sprouts, a small frozen lasagne, a box of frozen Spring Rolls, a frozen meal that involved meat-snacks and mashed potatoes and some 2% milk.  I've never bought any of these frozen products before.  Maybe the sprouts.

Home again, I finally stripped my bed of the sheets and blankets that Hello Newman spent his final days on.   Nigel and Zebedee had got up, themselves, so I took advantage.  I cleaned the litter box, refilled the food and water bowls.  Tomorrow, I'll start to pick up the pieces.

I've taken off work.  I bowed out of a mural project and put the house-painting job on hold.  I've been running too hard for my own good.  My room and studio are a pigsty.  Even though I never worked more than thirty hours a week, at best, I still worked too much.  It's a problem that I doubt is uniquely mine.

Having spent the last decade unable to really work, when this job up the street opened up, it was fantastic.  Finally, I could start to pay Cricket back for all the years she supported my Disabled arse.  Working for myself, I made my own hours.  The only real time crunch was September.  I am highly valued by the home owners, because I am skilled, conscientious, detail oriented and, just for giggles, sober.

Problem is, as far as I've come, I'm still not as well as I'd like to be.  I have yet to find real balance, maintain my life, whether in monetary, household, artistic, time, work or personal management.  I have to use this time to help myself.  Otherwise, I will fail, slip further back.  Become more of a burden.  Become less than I could, should and would be.