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Looks like I was wrong about making it through Valentine's unscathed. I left work in a pretty good mood but without any particular plans except checking out the vendor market at the Leather Archives and Museum. It was small and crowded and I only knew a couple people, so I didn't stay long before running across the street for groceries.
When I got home, I decided not to make what I'd bought ingredients for anyway and instead threw together a Monte Cristo with some Tofurkey and the leftover French toast in the fridge. Even so, I managed to stay up a bit late and wake up groggy. My mid-morning nap ended up being an hour instead of twenty minutes but I popped out of bed ready to make my noodles after all.
Then I felt my energy desert me. I didn't feel like doing much of anything, even reading; only watching YouTube videos kept me awake long enough not to fall asleep too soon. I had to make one phone call--to my stepmom to make arrangements for next weekend--and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Despite a good night's sleep, I was just as listless the next morning. Then it hit me: This is depression.
I got up early and had my tea, but then I crawled back under the covers. All I wanted was for someone--anyone--to reach out to me. But when someone did (one of my new pals, asking if we were going out for Venezuelan later), I ignored them. It was agonising. I found myself wishing for some happy pills to pop.
In the end, what got me up was dim sum. The day before, a couple acquaintances had planned a trip to support Chinatown (which is losing business due to dumb, racist Coronavirus fears) and I'd pledged to go. If I'd cancelled, they wouldn't have missed me, but still I used this chimney myself up from the depths. It was a somewhat harrowing ride down (I basically sat wrapped up and tried to ignore the goings-on around me), but I made it.
And once there, I enjoyed myself, of course. It was a good crowd. Afterwards I remember thinking how little anyone had used their phones (which gives me hope for the young people after all). We visited a couple bakeries, the candy store, and a beauty shop, and chatted the whole while. Hopefully this isn't the last I'll see of these guys, but even if it is, it was well worth it.
I lingered so long that I didn't have time to stop at home before heading up to Evanston to meet the new boys at La Cocinita. I naturally didn't feel like eating (the ride up had made me a little sick) but they didn't mind and noshed away. We spent most of the time talking about food and restaurants with an eye to our next outing.
I came back home tired out but happy at my triumph. Hopefully it won't ever get any harder than this.
When I got home, I decided not to make what I'd bought ingredients for anyway and instead threw together a Monte Cristo with some Tofurkey and the leftover French toast in the fridge. Even so, I managed to stay up a bit late and wake up groggy. My mid-morning nap ended up being an hour instead of twenty minutes but I popped out of bed ready to make my noodles after all.
Then I felt my energy desert me. I didn't feel like doing much of anything, even reading; only watching YouTube videos kept me awake long enough not to fall asleep too soon. I had to make one phone call--to my stepmom to make arrangements for next weekend--and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Despite a good night's sleep, I was just as listless the next morning. Then it hit me: This is depression.
I got up early and had my tea, but then I crawled back under the covers. All I wanted was for someone--anyone--to reach out to me. But when someone did (one of my new pals, asking if we were going out for Venezuelan later), I ignored them. It was agonising. I found myself wishing for some happy pills to pop.
In the end, what got me up was dim sum. The day before, a couple acquaintances had planned a trip to support Chinatown (which is losing business due to dumb, racist Coronavirus fears) and I'd pledged to go. If I'd cancelled, they wouldn't have missed me, but still I used this chimney myself up from the depths. It was a somewhat harrowing ride down (I basically sat wrapped up and tried to ignore the goings-on around me), but I made it.
And once there, I enjoyed myself, of course. It was a good crowd. Afterwards I remember thinking how little anyone had used their phones (which gives me hope for the young people after all). We visited a couple bakeries, the candy store, and a beauty shop, and chatted the whole while. Hopefully this isn't the last I'll see of these guys, but even if it is, it was well worth it.
I lingered so long that I didn't have time to stop at home before heading up to Evanston to meet the new boys at La Cocinita. I naturally didn't feel like eating (the ride up had made me a little sick) but they didn't mind and noshed away. We spent most of the time talking about food and restaurants with an eye to our next outing.
I came back home tired out but happy at my triumph. Hopefully it won't ever get any harder than this.