Dispatches from Blue Valley

I've been struggling to write a few posts for the last few days. First, I wanted to write about detective shows, and violence, and how my Mom's fearful reaction to them both - she had just been for a visit and insisted on securing all windows and doors - affects me. But I couldn't.

Because I am depressed as fuck.

And then I struggled with writing about that too. Writing about all of that, the Big D, makes me angry. It's like the bitterness has become cystic, and writing slices it open. It might be cathartic, but the result is unpleasant. I also have a policy, a mostly reliable one, of not posting anything written through tears. The emotional tone is so embarassing the morning after, and there are so many typos that need to be fixed, that it's not worth the bother.

So I looked at the half-finished but already overwrought post, and deleted everything until the "fuck." There it is. I am depressed now, but I also know, as the benefit of so many trips to the emotional valley, that I won't be sometime soon.

Better luck tomorrow.