First let me say, I’m not exactly sure where the craw is located, anatomically speaking. But, I know when something gets lodged in it, the craw gets chafed, irritated, and the discomfort leaves you perpetually pissed off.
So what has been in my craw for most of 2015? Aside from Donald Trump, of course. That damn State Farm commercial. Every time I see it I ask myself, “Why is this still airing and why hasn’t everyone on the advertising team that created it been fired?” You know the commercial I’m talking about. It starts with the guy at the party who says, “I’m never getting married.” Then, we see him buying an engagement ring. He follows suit with, “I’m never” having a child, living in the suburbs, driving a mini-van, having a second child and then he DOES all of these things. At the end of the ad, he is cuddled on the couch with his adoring family and says “I’m never letting go.” Do you see the fucking problem here? If the rest of the commercial holds true, this means he WILL let go. Whenever he says “I’m never,” he does it. So, his wife better get a good lawyer and second job, because this dude is totally abandoning her and those kids.
For the first time in months, my craw feels clear, and I’m ready to start a brand new year. It's very liberating. I think everyone should give craw clearing a shot.
*If you’re wondering what the above photo has to do with this blog. Nothing, except that Oscar Brown the Meanest Cat in Town obviously has something stuck in his craw…and has since birth.
Lately, I’ve bailed on several social gatherings and community events. I have every intention of attending right up until it is time to get ready and go. Then, I look in my closet full of too-small clothes and out the window at the falling darkness and steep steps. I envision the hour-long drive on winding roads. And, suddenly, become so exhausted that the only place I want to go is to the couch to watch Food Network or some show about surviving in the tundra. Instead of delicious hors-d'oeuvres or farm-to-table fare, I settle for leftover chili, straight from the fridge. Who has the energy to heat it up? Besides, what’s the point? It’ll just get cold again, anyway. A couple of hours later, guilt creeps in and gnaws at me like a hyperactive squirrel with titanium teeth. Then, fear declares, “By the time you get back to your life in Lexington, you won’t have a life there anymore.”
When I described this to a friend, she said, “You obviously are suffering from situational depression.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just feeling perpetually tired, overwhelmed by the tiniest task, afraid of the future, and have a general lack of enthusiasm for…well…everything.”
“Textbook. Look it up,” she replied.
So, I did. EverydayHealth.com explains that, “When a stressful situation is particularly hard to cope with, we react with symptoms of sadness, fear, or even hopelessness — a type of reaction that’s often referred to as situational depression.”
So what are these “stressful situations” to which they are referring? I turned to Google and found several articles on the topic. The general consensus is that the following are the major culprits: death of a loved one; divorce/marriage, moving (selling/buying property); major injury/illness; and job loss/demotion/promotion. Overall, change, whether bad or good, is the gremlin that gets inside your soul and sucks out all the joy.
Son-of-a-Bitch! No wonder I’m having a harder time than usual. In the five years since Frank and I have been together, we’ve done each of these multiple times. We have gone to the funerals of three human beings we adored, one of which died while we were performing CPR. I got divorced. We got married. Together, we have moved a total of four times, which involved selling two houses, buying two houseboats, buying lake property, selling two houseboats, and buying a floating house. Two weeks into our marriage, Frank basically broke all the bones in his right ankle and was out of commission for six months. Then, I had to have a LEEP procedure on my lady parts. On the job front, I was the Career Center Director for a college, then the editor of a magazine, and then we started an HVAC company, and I went back to freelancing and the daunting task of writing a decent third novel.
We went from living in downtown Lexington where we were surrounded on all sides by hot spots and cool people to an isolated cove in the middle of nowhere where we are surrounded by a fickle, fucking lake that refuses to stay at one water level. Don’t get me wrong, there are some fabulous folks down here, but they’re just not that accessible.
So, this Christmas, my gift to myself is a fricking break. I’ll do what I can. I’ll let the rest go. I may show up with some scrumptious appetizer and homemade hostess gift. I may show up with a bag of pork rinds in my pajamas. I may not show up at all. But, I’ll be sending my warmest wishes to you and yours throughout this holiday season…even if it’s from my couch between cups of spiked hot chocolate and episodes of “Alaskan Bush People.”
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.