I’m kinda down this morning. I had one of my bi-annual PTSD nightmares last night, and this morning it’s gloomy and rainy and cold, and Comrade Trump is…okay, wait. I should probably oughta take a short (honest, it’ll be short) tangent here.
Kinda down is what I have instead of depression. I don’t really get depressed. I used to think I did, until I talked to folks who experience real depression — and you guys, that’s a whole nother thing. That shit sound really fucking grim. Kinda down is basically just a short-term grumbly dissatisfied unhappiness. I’ll be kinda down for…I don’t know, maybe a few hours, tops. Or until the cat does something weird. Or I see something interesting somewhere. I may have an entire day in which…no, that’s not true — maybe an entire morning or afternoon…that’s sporadically, episodically kinda down, but that’s about it. This is how lightly kinda down sits on me: when I get kinda down, I also feel kinda grateful that I don’t get actually depressed. The truth is kinda down is a pretty candy-ass negative emotional state.
So, I’m kinda down this morning because (see above)…and Comrade Trump is still horrible and still POTUS. His POTUSish days are probably numbered because of the coming election, but the bloated bastard is still lumbering around in the White House, and that casts an ungly (yeah, I misspelled ‘ugly’ there, but I sorta like the way ‘ungly’ looks and sounds as a word) shadow on the entire United States.
I’m kinda down because yesterday in San Diego a man shot and killed his wife and his three sons, then killed himself. I’m not down because of the murders themselves (though I probably ought to be, because that’s just horrible); I’m kinda down because killing your whole family and yourself doesn’t count as a mass murder. Seriously. The most common definition of a mass murder (and c’mon, it’s fucking horrible that we have to have define it) states the murders have to take place in a public place in which four or more people are killed in a single episode, excluding domestic, gang, and drug violence. This guy killed 1) his family 2) at home so hey, bingo, NOT a mass murder.
And I’m kinda down because Venice is underwater, and the air quality in Delhi is so bad some ‘entrepreneurs’ have opened an ‘oxygen bar’ where they SELL a few gulps of fresh air to folks who can afford to pay for it, while Trump continues to roll back EPA clean air and water regulations, and his mob of MAGAwits are still falling for the lie that climate change is a hoax.
I’m kinda down about an article I read on some Irish news site (yeah, I periodically check Irish news sites because I’ve Irish roots, and Irish news is so much nicer that US news; the Irish are maybe the happiest miserable people in the world, with the possible exception of the Finns because, c’mon, those poor bastards have to live in Finland) about how difficult it is for trans folks to shop for clothes. Shopping for clothes ought to be really easy for everybody. You need a shirt, you go to a store, you find a shirt you like, you buy the damned shirt…that’s it. It never occurred to me how buying a shirt (or a blouse or pants or whatever) would be so massively difficult and traumatic for trans folks. But of course it is. Why doesn’t Target or Kohl’s just create a sort of trans-wear section, like they have for young men or sportswear or coffee pots, for fuck’s sake. You know, just some place where trans folks can buy a pair of pants without having to deal with other folks’ horribleness.
I’m also kinda down because yesterday I picked up my camera and didn’t remember how to use it. I’m talking about my actual camera camera (well, one of them) instead of using the camera in my phone, and when I say I didn’t remember how to use it, I mean I’ve forgotten how to do certain technical things (like use spot metering NOT in the middle of the frame, if that makes sense). Technical things that were second nature to me a year or two ago. And was the menu organization always that cumbersome? Am I going to have to be reduced to using program mode for a while? I mean, program mode? Did gremlins get hold of my camera as it sat idle on the shelf and re-arrange everything while I wasn’t looking?
Also? I’m kinda down because…well, no. It’s over now. I really wanted to get one more horrible thing here — and lawdy, there are SO MANY horrible things — but I got a Twitter notification so I looked away and lawdy, Stephen Fry has posted a photo of himself with something approximating a mustache. And now the cat wants my attention, and there are brownies for breakfast, and tonight I’ll watch the new episode of The Good Place and despite all the horrible things…sorry. I almost said something trite and ‘inspirational’ here, and there’s nothing more annoying than trite inspirational stuff.
So, that’s it then.
Thanks for noting the difference between being kinda down and seriously deeply depressed.
(I wonder though about your nightmares and PTSD, but you’ve likely covered already. The vast number of of anti-depressant prescriptions now being written blurs the distinction as does the changing language from mental illness or health to mood disorder and wellness. I appreciate your take on issues of the day whether national or personal. Thanks again. V
The difference between what I experience and what folks who are clinically depressed experience is so massive I can’t even begin to express it. As to my PTSD, it’s also pretty minimal now. Years ago I had nightmares on a regular basis — sometimes 2-3 times a week. Now I have them maybe three times a year. I don’t like them — or the other PTSD symptoms — but they’re manageable and don’t detract from the quality of my life in any significant way.
My life is pretty damned sweet. I’m awfully lucky.
Amen to all this. Except Finland. Finland has wood-burning saunas where you sit and sweat and slap yourself and your mates with little bundles of birch twigs, and when can’t stand the heat anymore you run down a long dock and plunge into a cold lake, and it’s so very refreshing. All this while naked. It’s delicious. They also have yummy little rice pasties called Karjalan piirakka that I keep meaning to make…. Maybe this week’s the week. I trust you’re feeling better. I’m glad you’re not depressed.
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I knew somebody would spank me for saying that about Finland. But as you can probably tell, I write the more personal blog posts quickly and without a great deal of forethought (or editing) — otherwise I wouldn’t write them at all.
My knowledge of Finland is based entirely on a sample of two: a Finnish grad student and a friend who worked in some sort of embassy position in Finland The grad student had an incredibly dry, cynical sense of humor (which I appreciated), and the friend said the only thing worse than winter in Finland was Finnish cuisine — which I understood as mostly bland stews and abused fish.
Both of them talked about saunas and sweating and whipping folks with birch twigs and jumping into icy ponds, which I’m sure is invigorating, but it’s an odd thing to highlight as an exemplar of Finnish life.
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I am gobsmacked. My gob is completely smacked.
I hear you.
I really haven’t anything to complain about. But I won’t let that stop me from complaining.
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Oh please, don’t stop complaining about the Cheeto Dictator. You’re my best source of the latest developments.
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Sorry darlin. I get it.
Pffft, this is just me whinging a bit. My life is pretty easy and sweet.
I shared a kinda down moment with friends at the thrift store this weekend. We were laughing at a pun my sister made over the word “hearing.” Suddenly there was silence among us three, eyes all cast down as we remembered what “hearings” meant, not a word for 15 seconds or so. After that, we were all about blabby and laughing, again. Sigh. Great. Now I feel kinda down, again.
Kinda down always goes away, though. Puns help.