So ... earlier today, I was thinking of posting about the fact that I'm more or less giving up on trying not to get depressed over suddenly being a uniped. What's the use, I figure? When a normal person says, "I'm useless", you can generally argue. Myself at the moment, I rejoice at being able to sponge-bath myself. I think a little self-pity might actually be in order.Oddly enough, tho, I'm not actually feeling depressed at all presently. I didn't get a chance to write that entry earlier because I had to go see my therapist -- and whereas I rather expected her to jump all in my shit over having a broken leg ... okay, if you're wondering why she might do that, it's because I'd been drinking the night it happened, and loyal readers will recall that not long ago she asked me to go a month without a drop of gin n juice, just to reassure her I could. I did that, so to my mind I see no reason to continue teetotalling.
But, unlike one of my ex's (bitch), the first thing she asked was not "Were you drinking?" In fact, my therapist never asked at all. It is an unfair question after all, because I've lived my whole life, and drank quite a bit, without sustaining any serious injury. If you're gonna say I should not have been drinking if I didn't want a broken ankle, you might as well say I should not have been up late, should not have walked down a flight of stairs, should not have decided a drink of water would be nice, and so on.
So no, my psych was all hella cool, lauding me on how kickass my life had been before my fateful tumble, and encouraging me not to let this little bump in the road get to me. Fair enough, as staying at home has been driving me nuts anyway.
So now, I'm sitting here writing an entry when I could be talking to my sister back home, as she has not yet gotten the chance to go, "Oh, poor bay-bee" yet. Also haven't called any of the several friends I'd initially thought I might go to dinner with tonight. Even haven't called the kinda-cute girl I met last weekend, to see if maybe she'd like to get together this weekend.
So why have I not done any of these things? Well, though ostensibly these things might seem like "recreation", that would only be to the at least marginally productive amongst us. Any of the true, hardcore, died-in-the-wool, gangsta-ass slackers like myself -- we know that anything, anything at all that you might tell yourself you "ought" to do or "should" do at least kind of counts as work. And fuck that, man!
Down with the establishment, man! I've had enough of the Combine running my life, man. Keep your eyes closed if you want to. I'm wide-awake. Getting sympathy from relatives? Sharing good food and good conversation? Arranging to hang out and flirt with an attractive young lass?
Save it for the plebes and the proletariat, man. For real. The revolution starts here, and it may not be televised, but it will be forwarded in email, ad infinitum.
