If anyone happened to be hanging around an elementary school in the greater Salt Lake area around eleven yesterday morning they would've witnessed a very pregnant woman slip into full-on nervous breakdown mode.
Loud, pathetic sobs over the seemingly innocuous.
After a morning filled with sameness. Breakfast for Violet, picking up toys, cleaning, unloading the dishwasher, picking up toys... Did I mention picking up toys?
Later. Violet, freshly bathed, teeth brushed and finally wrestled into clean clothes. At this very pregnant juncture I require a rest after clothing my own enormous body (putting on socks? a fucking marathon!) let alone a squirming, busy toddler with shit to do.
Dogs need to be walked. Milo never stops barking. Throwing the frisbee over and over again to tire Milo out and there's Violet, a few yards away, standing victoriously atop a muddy embankment. I see what's about to happen and begin lumbering toward her as the scene unfolds, slow-motion, before I can stop her.
She plops happily down in the mud at the top of the little hill and shouts WEEEEEE! She's mimicking all the sledding she does with her papa, see? But there's no snow. No sled. Only mud. All over my baby. Panting and heaving I finally reach her but it's too late.
She is covered in mud.
I pluck her up and the mud smears all over the brand new tent/shirt I'd put on this morning to cover my ever-expanding body. I had planned on dropping the dogs at home and heading straight to work where I'd meet Serge for The Violet Shuffle in the parking lot.
And then a full day of work. Home at eleven for another night of achy non-sleep only to begin it all again the next day.
It seem so stupid now, but the mud, Milo's incessant barking and the need to go home and change clothes... I lost it, man. Loud sobbing, drowned out by Milo's demands I throw the frisbee again and again and again and again and again. I feel bullied by my own dogs. Enraged at their constant demands but guilty if I don't comply.
Sobbing so hard I can't catch my breath as I drive home to the tune of Milo, still barking. But I can't really cry, even though, dammit, sometimes a good cry is all you need. Because I don't want to scare my child who, angry at being torn away from the muddy hillside, is doing a pretty good job at dominating my cries, anyway. Me sobbing, Violet screaming, Milo barking. What a scene.
I guess the little things add up and pretty soon you've got a storm on your hands.
I could chalk it up to hormones. It might be. But I feel depression settling in. It's been building the whole of December. A while back Serge wrote about the blues: "My blues come on like a lot of people's probably. Slow. Like cars poking around Christmas lots, far from the store doors, just looking for any damn spot they can find. Eventually they find one and park and that's when I have to just deal with it all."
And that's it really. Standard issue blues. We all endure it at one time or another, yeah? No special depression that deserves extra attention. No wrist cutting over here. No thoughts of suicide. No hitting the bottle excessively (unfortunately). No violent outburts to warrant concern from friends and family. Just a subtle sinking into a black hole after days and days and days of the same shit over and over again. An intense melancholy, the kind that everyone goes through, which makes me feel like an asshole for even mentioning it... you know?