i have spent nights with matches and knives.

As Ice Cube didn't say, It Wasn't a Good Day.

Yesterday was cold and rainy and grey and lonely in a meloncholy way. Which is fine and good and whatnot, except that in turn I was also perhaps the most sad and anxious I've been in awhile. Mostly sad, not as much anxious, which is why I didn't notice it as much until the end of the evening. I managed to maintain commitments all day and keep myself distracted. I went to see Resident Evil and enjoyed the horror and frights. I hung out with Kraftwerk Librarian Friend for a couple hours, walking around in the chilly drizzle and I talked so much I can't even remember what we discussed. I talked with MelRo and others on IM while watching Simpsons and other Sunday night favorites. I accepted a late dinner invitation from Riley and Vanessa and really enjoyed their company, despite not getting enough coffee from the waiter. I kept myself occupied all day, but when it came time to shut my eyes at night, I was too scared -- and not of zombie dogs from the movie. I just felt weighed down, and as I told MelRo, hideous and annoying.

I wanted to sleep and call in sick to work and sleep all day today and watch TV, but I knew I would then feel bad about myself for being on the couch all day. I was scared to sleep. I wanted to resist my cravings to sleep forever, because to quote my own question, no, I don't want to die.

In the end, I just went to bed by myself and slept. I didn't stay up feeling wretched, attempting to find the secret combination in my head which would set all things right. Too often I believe I must solve all problems as they appear. Even the unsolvable ones.

I'm scared of being sad. I rarely allow myself to be sad. This has two primary causes. As a general rule in my household growing up, one wasn't allowed to be sad. Unless someone died. Even then, it wasn't good to wallow in it too long. If I got yelled at, I wasn't supposed to be sad. If something didn't go the way I wanted, I wasn't supposed to be sad. The implicit rule of my household always seemed to be "suck it up". Or more nicely, denial. "There's nothing to be sad/upset about." Then when I went out on my own household, I would let myself be sad for as long as I wanted. Hours. Days. Weeks. Suddenly I was sadder for longer that I planned. So I trained myself to believe two extremes: don't be sad as all, or be crippled by your sadness.

Which should I choose? Neither one is particularly appealing.

But know what happened this morning, after I went to sleep sad? I woke up. I still felt a little crummy with residual temptation to stay in bed all day. But I forced myself to shower. I forced myself to care about how I look. Then I checked my voicemail and got Myles's message. And reread my IM conversation with MelRo. And then realized that I don't feel as bad as I did last night. That there's such a thing as passing emotions. There's such a thing as feeling sad without feeling depressed. And sometimes you can be both, but not always. And sometimes it's okay to go to sleep feeling like shit and not attempting to save yourself in one night.

And it was a good day.

At least for now. And who the fuck cares about how I'll feel later tonight. I can deal with that then.

must remember this

I'm reading an article on black women's invisibility in Hollywood while on hold with social security administration. And I must remember this quote by Stephanie Zacharek of Salon.com.
"There's no good reason for that other than cultural conditioning. And while cultural conditioning isn't racism, it's one of the elements that allow it to thrive. "

I often find myself in situations where I'm trying to explain to someone, no, I don't believe you're a racist bigot and Klan member, but yes, what you said is still problematic and fcked up. Now I have more clear way of commmunicating the concept.

"The Man has programmed me. My conditioning has been conditioned."
"You're a moron."
"I can't help it."
"What, being a moron?"
"Yeah, that too."

(You get a bite of my king-sized Baby Ruth if you can list the source of that conversation. I'll fly out and deliver it to you.)

Social Security just told me it's the IRS's fault. IRS told me to call SSA. Can I get some mediation here? Oh well. As long as the check gets sent, they can call my money by any name they desire.