Oh, Crap!

Depression, anxiety and I are joined at the hip, a threesome. I, in the centre, flanked on either side by those constant companions. Somehow, through all my years, I've managed to "keep on, keeping on,"

pushed through and did what I needed and had to do. Works, kids, spouse, obligations, responsibilities, the perceived need to do, be for others.

Yet, over the last four months, there's been a difference. That "whatever" that's kept me going has jumped ship. Now, when I usually write, I only stare at the screen. Switching over to assignments, trying to accomplish something from the sticky notes list, talking to friends, family, and even the usually sure-fire renewal of the gardens are only abandoned thoughts.

It's too much effort. So much for not waiting for life not to be hard before I decide to be happy. Sorry, Nightbirde. Maybe, once again, this, too, shall pass.

But then, there is the highlight of the day; locating and/or rescuing the latest creature one or both of the cats have relocated inside, alive, kicking and excessively unhappy. This time it's a weasel. I'm not sure which is worse, that or the bats, snakes and woodpeckers. What's wrong with mice and birds?

Image credit: Eros-Aristoteles Art