Just a bit at a time.
This year has been particularly difficult.
Between injuries, some fucked up mental health issues, and blood pressure bullshit, I’m not at my best.
I don’t do as much as I used to and I’m tired all the time. I thought it was mostly due to getting used to the new medicines. In fact, I discussed that possibility with my doctor on Friday. I told her that I felt like the medications was causing some depression symptoms.
She floated the possibility that perhaps depression was causing my depression symptoms.
Which, you know, makes sense.
I’m super grateful that the panic attacks are still under control. That’s awesome. But it’s not enough. We’re going to try some new medications, but I also know I have to force myself out of the pattern I’ve been in.
I have to force myself to care about more than bingeing something on Netflix.
So I did.
I did a few things.
First, a few weeks ago, when I was driving around trying to decide what I wanted to do for lunch, I decided to get a tattoo that I’ve wanted for years now.
I talked to the nice lady in my phone who tells me where things are and she led me to the closest tattoo parlor.
The tattoo I wanted was very simple. I wasn’t worried that it wouldn’t look good. I didn’t think I’d actually be able to get a tattoo, but I’d at least make the appointment.
I went in and there were two young men who were the artists and one had a client in his chair.
I told them what I wanted and the other dude said he could do it right then.
So, I was in.
The artist who had a young man in his chair asked Alexa to play The Doors. I heard the beginning of Light My Fire, just as I was settling into the chair.
Tattoo Artist #1: Oh man…it would the one song of theirs I don’t like.
Me: Yeah. It’s hard to listen to. Kind of like Stairway To Heaven. It’s just been too many times.
We proceeded to have a lovely conversation about The Doors.
Tattoo Artist #1: So, did you get a chance to see them live?
Me: Dude. How the fuck old do you think I am?
Tattoo Artist #1: Uh…no no..I didn’t mean.
Me: Jim Morrison died in 1971.
Me: I was 8.
Tattoo Artist #2: But you were at least born.
Me: You know…I haven’t tipped you yet.
I let the poor guys off the hook. They were both younger than 3 of our 4 children and therefore are babies.
Tattoo Artist #2 did a great job. My new tattoo serves both as a reminder and as a homage to Douglas Adams.
The other thing I did was find an open mic event.
We went a week ago Sunday. I didn’t practice this at all, but I was familiar with the material. I felt pretty good about jumping back in. The audio isn’t very good. Mostly people say they don’t understand the last line. It’s “you must win”.
Anyway…I have been writing some new material and am going to do this again soon.
I’m trying to climb out.