November 06, 2016


November 6, 2016, quick fall shoot of a random red thing beneath a tree in Queens

I'm having a rough day. No, I'm having a rough life. This sounds insane, but I've been plotting my own death this afternoon. I am not suicidal, at least, I'm fairly sure I'm not, but I had myself fairly convinced this afternoon and on into the evening that my end would be near. Yes, I'm menstruating and yes, I'm drinking white wine. All fair elements leading to the plot of my demise.

Things have not been too terrible this year. I was an Assistant Project Manager on a small Daniel Boulud "Grab and Go" cafe located in the "Oculus," which is the transit hub down near World Trade Center, Ground Zero, aka, heavily secured area. My eyes are scanned! It's like I'm in the Matrix. I have to have my security badge checked at every point wherein I enter the heavily secured area. The cafe opened last week, and I start my vacation (first this year) tomorrow, so maybe life will start looking up.

I don't know.

I'm having serious anxiety and depression issues again. They hit me hard between 2012 and 2014, then sailed away, but have decided to return with a vengeance. And I'm nearing AGE 40 (WTF) so I think my physical being is taking a beating and hating that the emotional whirlwinds have elected to return. 

I cannot stop drinking heavily. It's like the most irrational thing on the planet. I can afford to, so I do, and then I wind up like a wet moldy blanket on the floor regularly and Jon, my knight, is becoming tired of it.

Thing is, he isn't new to the scene: he drank heavily for years then decided to quit, cold turkey, because of his son. Blessed decision...but he now forgets, sometimes, what it's like on this alcoholic side.

And, huge sigh...he's worried about me. My health, my behavior, all of that. Rightfully so.

When he was a drunk (using that term loosely, because he wasn't really ever a "drunk") he made no judgment calls in my direction. Now that he's drinking 400 cups of coffee a day and eating protein shakes like they're headed out of style, he's all about the judging. Yet I can't blame him.

In any event, I most definitely have decided to aim to decrease aka limit aka cut back aka delete the white wine from my ritual. I think I will become a smarter person with much more savvy motor skills and with much less inclination to want to plot my own plot. So to speak. 

Does alcohol play right into depression and anxiety?

I'm no doctor, but I'm going to go with a heavy handed YES on that one.

Google could probably second me on that.

Happy Fall anyway, Y'all.


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