Revisiting depression. It's not wanting to be labeled as depressed, because maybe I'm laying it on too thick. Maybe I'm self-pitying, maybe I'm trying to get too much sympathy. Yeah, maybe I am. Because I'm down and lonely, and sympathy would feel fucking good. So should I be angry instead? Yes. A bit of righteous anger. Not rage or vengeance, just the beautifuk burn of purifying motivating anger. Sparkling like a gem. 

Ok, I do see why anxiety is my actual diagnosis. But when do i say enough, i gotta feel afraid and do what i need to do in spite of it. Or better, when do i not experience such absolute terror?  When do i not let the fear be my excuse for everything?

 Being charmed is such a small, wonderful sensation. The intricate metalwork of the Eiffel Tower, some March snowflakes drifting down on me from an upper storey. It was too crowded, the elevators congested and taking forever. The postcards with cats while I never spied a single feline in the 3 weeks I was there. But the Tower was enchanting. So glad I set up that tour before I arrived. I would not have been patient enough for those outrageous lines. 

The moment of being charmed is so intimate.  It cannot be expected.

 What am I on about?! Trixie is an absolutely miniature cat. Maybe she's a runt? Her eyes are saucers and the grey ticked parts of her short coat are exquisite. She's very curious. She absolutely adores Christopher. Lily is definitely on the defensive.

I'm angry because I'm hungry, but when I go to eat it's just so unpleasant on my tastebuds. My legs are ready to move. Like really move and walk. And dance?

I guess anger is what I must express in art. Or passion. Sometimes I don't feel the difference.

Hope. Literal dry throat thirst. Possibilities.

 New Year's Eve was great, although I had the runs. That supermoist chicken and green chile tamale was way too spicy for me. Yesterday was okay. Started poorly, but Willow came over and I cooked a hamburger for myself and did not have the runs. K made her squash gratin and later, apple butter. It's very sweet, but tasted exactly like the Holidays. Also watched a roast of 2024, which gave me my needed dose of snark. Think I got K hooked on Workin Moms...

 So many of my frustrations are because I need to know why.

 What does depression look like? Guilt and repeating poor choices. Letting imperfection reign victorious. Imperfection is the very truth; perfection is a longing only. Dirty feet. Not wanting to sweep though the floor is crumby again. Pissing K off because finishing stuff is anathema to me. The dregs.

 Dear Chloe:

The Truth. It's color in free form. Laughter. Always laughter. Cold carbonation. Songs, deep sorrowful and dreamy. La lune. Les chats. Italiano. Chocolate. Men with sleepy eyes.