I Has The Sads

I've been kind of down since Thanksgiving. We temporarily gave up Christmas trees and presents and sparkly decorations three years ago because I go nuts and spend too much during the holidays and start the new year in debt. As we're trying to save for a house, this behavior will not stand. So Christmas has been cancelled for the most part. Add into that, my mom, who is the solitary member of my family I still communicate with in any meaningful way, moved out of state. Which makes me feel extremely lonely for family during the holidays, no offense to my lovely friends or my hubs. Its not the same. Then mix into that, I just turned thirty-five.

Thirty-five.

35.

Treinta y cinco.

God-awful pretty

So the combo of all these things appears to have spiraled me into a level of depression I haven't had in years. I woke up on my birthday with it. A not-answering-the-phone, not-taking-showers kind of depression. A lay-on-the-couch- and-watch-Borgia kind. And frankly, any depression that makes you watch Borgia is the worst kind. That show is god-awful.


Also I'm sort of depressed about this blog. I hired someone to make it pretty. Paid a wad of cash. It was a cluster-fuck. She'd tell me she'd get back with me in a day and I wouldn't hear from her for a week. She routinely forgot the things I requested. After three months she gave me my $$ back, but I was left with a mess of code that I can't figure out and honestly, the blog looks kind of bad. Sloppy. So I'm pretty bummed about that too.

But mostly, I think thirty-five is what has me in a funk.

I loved turning thirty. My thirties have been amazing. I mean just this year alone I finished two novels. My life is on-track and my birthdays have not been bothering me. Yet now, I'm sitting back and cataloging my failures both real and imagined. We are making strides toward a house but the market isn't great and we still don't have enough saved for a down payment. I have my diabetes under control right now but my mortality is ever-present in my mind. Every year older reminds me that I probably won't live to be very old. I'm not making any strides with my weight. We seem to have given up on keeping our house clean as my depressions tend to be contagious to my hubs. I've started getting frequent and alarming nose bleeds. My hair is frizzy. My skin is ruddy. Oh and our PS3 died.

Depression is nonsensical sometimes. Yes my mortality and my PS3 are equal things to be sad about in my crazy head.

In an attempt to be positive, here is a list of good things in my life:  My BFF moved back from Mexico to Michigan. Hubs bought me the Supernatural edition of Clue with a gorgeous pic of Sam and Dean on the box. Our furnace quit running right before Christmas and one of Santa's elves fixed it for free. I got some new outfits from Torrid. My mama sent me birthday cash. My nails are currently sparkling like the midnight sky. I started using over-priced Shea Butter lotion that smells like citrus and my nubby, rough elbows and forearms are smoother than they've been since childhood. I guess that's what fifteen dollar lotion does. Our finances are looking pretty good and after three spare Christmas seasons, we have built up a nice bit of savings. My third and fourth books are being sorted out in my head and I'm also thinking a lot about my very first completed novel, my Detroit love story. I think it needs a total overhaul but I liked the characters and I think its salvageable. We have running vehicles, heat, electricity, food, money for medications, an insane amount of eyeshadow and nail polish... in short, life is good.

But I'm sad anyway.

Art by Moon Princess at  elysian-dreams.tumblr.com/