Oh Ate Oh Ate Eleven

Yesterday, I got an email, from a car dealership. They'd set up a time for me to come in and interview for a sales position. I cannot see me selling cars. I dislike selling, anyway. I don't think anyone needs a new car. Buy a used car, if your own vehicle is beyond repair, or if you just have no car.

This morning, my little son rolled over and said this poem to me:
Mama's baby
Went to bed
Mama's baby
Knocked his head
Mama's baby
Went to school
Mama's baby
Had the tools
Then, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

I have had a splitting headache for three days. I am having asthma issues. The air is stagnant. My allergy meds make me feel like I've eaten glass. My body feels like a 125 lb. piece of shit.

Saturday, I went to Blowing Rock, to try and snap out of this funk, and to try and find some inspiration for creativity. It didn't work like I wanted it to, but it was better than staying in the house, being agitated. I just got a little more depressed up there, being around a crowd of over-privileged people, talking about things that really don't matter much like they're really important things. Perspective of the unemployed, depressed housewife. Anyway, I took some pictures on my walk through the park. They turned out okay.

I told myself I would start writing again, if only to journal down the bull crap in my head. You're reading it.

Saturday, during one of the 10 minute naps I took throughout the night, I dreamed that Ben Stiller took out an insurance policy on me for $300k. I was insulted. I awoke, saying, "I'm worth at least $500k!"

One of the other ten minute naps brought a dream that I was living in a house infested with fleas. They were everywhere. I haven't looked this up, yet, but seeing bloodsuckers everywhere has got to mean something.

I believe I have, at least temporarily, lost my ability to make my best friend smile. I also think maybe my days as a lover are past. I think I might be just a selfish bitch or something. This makes me sad - which makes me a miserable wretch, in addition to a selfish bitch.

The depression has come to a point where I can't even smile for my youngest son, as much as I should. I am doing something about this, but it's a slow process that doesn't include alcohol or drugs. If you're out there, and care, and are touched by my moods, please be patient with me. If you don't care, then why read this?

Love,
S