[Por Una Cabeza for my dearest Carlos Gardel]
Well, I've officially been cleaning for 4 hours. I washed the dishes. I vacuumed. I windexed everything in need of it. I washed the stove. I thoroughly cleaned the bathroom. Then, I took a shower for a half an hour, and cleaned myself in every possible way.
So? What's the big deal, right?
I have a little problem, see. I don't know how long you've been with me - or whether you actually read - but if you do, then you'll know I go through these inexplicable bouts of depression. Not so much depression (according to moi) (only the experts allowed here) as the opposite of how I am usually. Which happens to be depression, but that's a technicality.
Why am I cleaning? That's the point. I just thought I'd hit you over the head with it. At first I thought it was just because our apartment is ridiculously dirty. Somewhere around the time I entered the 3rd hour of cleaning I realized ---- well, perhaps there might be a little something more to this.
So I broke out the Elliot Smith - which I have been avoiding for weeks because it depresses me - and, unfortunately, got to thinking. What's going on? Oh, the uje. But really, I figured it out, and it sucks. It's some awful lyric found in some song about the coming of the rain, or something like that, where you feel what's coming and you're just doing everything in your power to stop it. What am I stopping? The Blues.
Every. Single. Year. I go through this same round with depression every year when I'm done with school between the semesters. Sure, it's winter and everything. And usually a lot of my closest friends go home, that could have something to do with it. But I've got lots of other friends, so what's the big deal? Why this solitude? I'm not really alone. In fact, I've got lots of friends and a very good roommate to keep me company this time. I have two jobs that I love.
And there's my reason. Why did I decide that scrubbing every inch of my apartment and body would really help me? I know that I'm in this huge calm before a storm. You'd think that three weeks off would be a blessing, especially when you're as busy as I am. But these breaks in the empty, cold winter aren't welcoming, and for the most part there has never been anyone to distract me from the lonliness and the temptation to drown myself in alcohol. I just let the waves wash over me, but unlike most times, this break makes me remember every single thing that makes me stupid, makes me worthless, makes me sad. I'm going to feel it. I know this.
So since I know it, and I recognize it as a pattern now that it has been two years, I've decided to fight for my three weeks of freedom. I'm going to do something about it, this time. I don't want that emptiness - I've been there and I don't feel like it this time. And the reason I'm fighting before the battle even begins is because I don't want to believe that I can't take care of myself when there isn't something or someone going on, some circus or farce to grab my attention, make me look.
Maybe it's because I've changed, or maybe it's because I learned from my mistakes or am accepting maturity and my own goddamned responsibility in the matter. Maybe it's just because I don't want to waste any time. I can give myself cheesy pep-talks all I want, but in the end, well, it's just me. And I've decided to take care of that.
Well, at least for this three weeks.
[Oh, yes, and for my horse's head.]
bonus track for anyone looking to see one of the many things that is bothering me deep down at the moment:
i'll tell you why i don't want to know where you are
i got a joke i been dying to tell you
a silent kid is looking down the barrel
to make the noise that i kept so quiet
i'm not what's missing from your life now
i could never be the puzzle pieces
no one deserves this
the first time i saw you i knew it would never last
i'm not half what i wish i was
i'm so angry
i don't think it'll ever pass
and i was bad news for you just because