This whole depression thing… it’s….. there’s… I can’t….. no really. that’s how I feel when I try to feeeeel about it. how do you describe it? especially to someone who has never felt it, someone who has always just been mostly content with the way of the world, the way things are, the way things go.  Right now there are all these things crowding my head, clamoring for notice, punching, kicking, scratching, fighting, and shouting “look at me! Notice me!” like when I get home from work and both of my cats are meowling and winding in and out of my legs as I try to wrestle my tight clothes off and go pee.  I’m totally done with everything about This Place – which means my job, my apartment, Oregon, this time period of my life. Really. I’ve lumped it all in to an entity I call This Place and I’m just fucking done with it. There are best laid plans, blue prints drawn up, maps of the future and the like  for how to get out of This Place, and I really am working on it, but I’m not known for my patience. Once I think of something, mull it over and decide “yes! THAT’S it!!!” I just want to go, do, get, have, live. So I get angry with the sameness of waking up in the cold, damp, dark that is Portland, Oregon and sitting in a frigid warehouse listening to people whine. I know, I’m exaggerating, but my job? Not so fulfilling.

So I’ve spent a year wondering what I should do. Should I go back to school? Would that help? If so, what for? I’m fairly intelligent and could probably do anything I put my mind to, but I’m not one of those people who always knew what they wanted to do. As a result, college took me 10 years as I floundered around trying this, flirting with that, majoring in English, changing it to women’s studies, moving to Portland and then deciding maybe I should go to pharmacy school because I’d been working in pharmacy for so long. And then? I just got tired. And ran out of money. And wanted to have my weekends free. Majoring in pre-health, hard-as-fuck science classes means that both Saturday and Sunday are usually spent at the library desperately trying to make the facts and figures and foreign concepts stay in my head. And then o-chem literally blew my mind. I can’t remember parts of my childhood. I can re-read books that I read 10 years ago and it feels like the first time. I think I fried my hard drive and everything disappeared. So I graduated with my science degree. That was nearly 5 years ago. Then I started working here. That was nearly 4 years ago. And now, I’ve come to the Very Important Decision that I don’t want to go back to school. Not really. I am still paying off a rather large student loan from the first time around. And really, I don’t think it’ll make that much difference what the job is, I just hate monotony. Working the same schedule, day after day, week after week, not using my brain, not using any creativity, not learning or growing or changing. So – I am investigating some other avenues, but won’t be matriculating anytime soon.

Then there’s the recent outbreak of baby fever. I don’t know how or why, and can only blame it on raging hormones but all of a sudden; I really do want a little family to call my own. My childhood ended when I was about 9. My parents divorced, it was a lot of drama, a lot of trauma, a dash of anger and a smidge of sadness (this is me trivializing something that ripped my life apart in so many ways, and still has lasting effects on who I am and how I behave, but I don’t want to get into it all right now. I have promised myself that someday I will write it all down, sift through it and examine my feelings, actions and reactions. But not today). So I grew up too fast, became angry, bitter, hated everything. Didn’t/wouldn’t/couldn’t go on vacations with my family, isolated myself, didn’t have a lot of friends, and ran away from everything. And convinced myself that I never wanted to get married or have children. Especially children. Good god why would anyone want to have children?!  They’re so annoying! They cry all the fucking time! And they crap! And they’re dependant on you and you alone for their very existence!  But lately? I want all of that. I see people with kids, and how they’re making this little family unit. A group of people who have genuine love and are getting through all of this bullshit together and I can totally dig it. The people I know who have decided not to have kids? I’m not sure that’s how I picture myself in the future – still just me and my husband, just the two of us eating too much candy and playing video games on the weekends. Now I picture my husband giving our son a little guitar for his 2nd birthday and teaching him how to play Wipeout. I picture him falling in love with a curly haired little princess and being blown away by how much you can love a little being. I’m not sure he’s ever thought about that and I betcha he’d take one look at a little mixture of our two sets of genes and go “oh fuck! Now I see why you wanted to do this”! Not that he doesn’t want to do this. He just thinks that now is not the right time. Which, if I think logically I totally get. And I totally agree. But despite the fact that I am usually Spock when it comes to logic (really, straight up, I’m the one who talks the husband down when he wants to do things on the spur of the moment and spend a bunch of money or do this do that, I’m the one who has a 401K and who worries about that shit, I’m the one who is buying a financial advice book and giving our money a makeover),  but  I find myself wishing I could accidentally get pregnant. You know, it happens all of the time, even if you’re careful. Me though? I’m really careful. I figured out what the world’s most foolproof birth control (aside from abstinence) was, and I got that. So, I have an IUD. It’s not like I could drink a lot of alcohol and/or take a course of antibiotics and somehow lessen the efficacy, or hope that the condom broke – you know? It’s in there, preventing pregnancy, and it works. So there will be no “oops” pregnancy. There will have to be “carefully planned, pre-meditated, well thought out, on purpose” pregnancy.

Also? My husband? This morning I asked what is admittedly a stupid question. A variation on “does this make me look fat?” (no, the fact that you’re fat makes you look fat) – his answer? Well, those pants make you look like you have wide hips. And now I want to simultaneously cry and start the whole dietingbingeingguiltingdietingeatingeatingdieting cycle all over again.

Anyway – this turned into a rant of sorts. It didn’t mean to be. But I’ve got a lot on my mind. My 20s were all about not giving a fuck and being mad about it all, but my 30s have been about finding myself and figuring out where to go.   And what if I never get to go where I want to go?

And today? Today at work was one of those days where I have to sit in the bathroom (so as to hide from all the whiners) with my eyes closed real tight, hugging myself and repeating various mantras or I’ll give in to every urge that every fiber of my being is shrieking at me and run out of this place quick as can be leaving a cartoon character cutout of myself in the wall, jump into my car and peel out – run off some place, anywhere but This Place.

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