30 Days of Blogging: Blog 1

How odd is it that I feel so old-fashioned writing in a blog? Is blogging still a thing? Do people still read blogs that aren't owned by a tech enterprise or The Huffington Post?

The first blogger

No matter! This is my challenge. For 30 days straight I will write in this blog. It may be nonsense. It may be droll with splashes of acerbic whit, because that's totes my style. It may be a story, or it may just be complaining about the lady at work who drives me insane.

Why the challenge?

I started this blog a couple of years back with the intent to write in it every day about my weight-loss journey. Then it evolved into a place for me to save my stories that I've been writing for storytelling shows. Then it just became a place for my stories for storytelling shows to be stored in draft form that I never could drum up the energy to edit and publish. Then I just stopped writing altogether.

That's pretty much what it looked like...

There's always reasons for not writing. The last year has been filled with a lot of challenges. Job changes to living changes, never feeling safe and secure.  Letting go of familial relationships and friendships that were toxic.

Some folks when faced with trouble in relationships and life are so strong. They fight! They are resolute in that they will not be defeated. I, on the other hand, lay down the flag of surrender pretty fast. I'd be a terrible soldier.

Beetle Bailey is my squad captain

My apartment could tell a story without speaking, and the title of that story would be "Depression: What the Piles of Garbage in This Apartment are a Sign Of". Depression is the Sisyphean boulder that I've been rolling up a hill for the majority of my life. For a long time I'll do really well. Daily functions aren't a challenge. I can do things like shower, take out the garbage, cook a healthy meal, spend time with friends, go to shows.

Gradually, as depression sets in I begin to make little allowances. Ordering out for dinner every night. Canceling plans with friends. Skipping shows. Showering maybe every third day. Not taking out the garbage until it becomes difficult to step over. Eventually becoming a full-fledged shut in and having a daily conversation as to whether life is worth living because I am an unlovable pile of garbage.

Lincoln had depression, but at least he had someone to take out the garbage.

So that was my spring, how was yours? Nobody ever said depression was fun. I'm working on it. That's why I'm blogging from the stone ages. Nobody may read this, but getting back into the routine of living may remind me of why it's good to be alive.