Mulligan Mob

So I stumbled across this site today... thought you would be amused by it. I was. My name is The Gimp, but don't mess with my 'cos my brother is The Enforcer, my mom Killer and my dad The Mortician. I may not be much, but my whole crew will f*ck you up!

A Russian Lesbian Witch; the Worst Kind

Because I have a backyard and because I have food waste and because I've had the curiousity for some time now, I thought it only logical to have a compost pile.

My flatmate OK'd the idea, but said we can't just throw our food waste in a pile in the backyard and call it a "compost pile," that we would have to put a little more effort into it. So I've been doing research today on how to get this little project started. A friend suggested I "wander around Queens with a heavy duty trash bag and ask people for all of their yard waste." I thought it might be a good way to get to know the neighbors but that I might impress upon them the wrong idea of me. Then again, is that such a bad idea of me to have?

I'm told that cats will not compost (unless, of course, they're dead). But that a dead/decaying creature would make THE PERFECT START to a compost pile.

life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life...

Unfamiliar Ground

I have never understood depression. That is, until I realised I had it. I always believed that our minds are strong enough to overcome any doubts or "emotional weaknesses." I never knew what it was to not be able to function until I couldn't.

No, my depression isn't filled with days laying in bed crying and starving myself. My depression isn't an overall negative or hopeless view of the world. My depression isn't filled with self-hatred or suicidal thoughts. It is not fueled with drug use or alcohol abuse (though, sometimes, it is). My depression is not without occasional joy.

My depression gives me apathy, causes me to lose interest in everything I was enamoured with before. My depression keeps me from answering the phone, returning phone calls and, when I do, I dread making them. My depression is an utter drain of my energy. I can't funtion on depression. I can't do schoolwork or get a job becauase I can't send emails or make the phone call. My depression keeps me in the house all day, even on glorious Indian Summer days. I feel completely powerless. I am frightened by depression. I don't want to give it power, but it is powerful.

Some days are, of course, better than others. I can still write, though that ability fluctuates. I can still laugh and make others laugh, but only when I have the energy to talk to them in the first place.

I have spent the last two months not understanding my condition, wondering what was wrong with me. I have felt shame and all manner of bad about myself. I have avoided friends and family in an attemptt to hide from myself and from their disappointment, as well as my own. I couldn't get an internship, not because of procrastination (procrastination is only procrastination if you eventually actually go through with the task), but because I didn't have the energy to do the necessary work to accomplish my goal. I am doing poorly in my English course not because it is too difficult, but because I can't find the will to work.

Because I never believed depression is a legitimate illness, I have a hard time accepting it as an excuse for my behaviour. Maybe you prefer to call depression "laziness." If so, then laziness is debilitating and I need help overcoming it. And few words of encouragement have helped thusfar, so please don't tell me to 'just do it.' It's not that simple. I mean, I know it is, but it's just not.

Last night I had a ritual in the backyard to help rid me of my Love Demons. I burned letters never sent to clease my mind of my fixation. I released myself from my own shackles, maybe I even released her in some way. Then I came inside and took a candle-lit bubble bath to physically cleanse my body, taking time to admire my newly gained weight and stretchmarks (beautymarks). I came to bed and fell asleep listening to Tori and had dreams where I was thrust into a situation of living with people I didn't know, à la The Real World or Fear Factor. In the dream I took out mounds and mounds of trash. In fact, aside from choosing a turkey, that was the focus of the dream. I thought about what a wonderful metaphor that was, how getting out of this depression will require a lot of trash removal and how, last night, I was actually taking out the emotional trash I had been pack-ratting all the way from janvier.

Now that I understand my condition better, I feel better equipped to handle it. I don't expect you to understand it, but ask that you are patient with me as I move through it. For the time being, I am planning a period of understanding and absorption. I want to try to slog through this without the aide of prescription medication, though if it comes to that it comes to that. This is a strange place for me to be, but rather than fear and hide from it I'm going to accept and welcome it in. Perhaps I need this before I can function again at full tilt. My worry is that if I don't indulge this, I will never be at full strength again.

If you'll excuse me I am now going to get dressed, open the shutters and let out the cats.

Erin Steps Out

I don't know that I can express the vibe I get while rambling around this great city. There is something so magical about mingling with complete strangers, something so fulfilling. Any sense of loneliness I had prior melts away as I brush shoulders and touch outer thighs with folks I have never seen before and will, likely, never see again. So many different faces to study, so much to wonder about. I know I make it out to be more dramatic than it is, but I just adore being a part of it. I can't wait to be a contributing member of this society. Have a purpose when I walk down the street, as opposed to just meandering along.

My favourite part may be the mass transit. I love sharing that cramped space on a bus or train with people I don't know. I love secretly studying their features and averting my eyes when they catch me. This game greatly amuses me. I love the stark silence between us. Most of all, I love how people rub elbows and shoulders for 15 minutes at a time without looking at each other once, let alone knowing their name.

I love flashing grins at complete strangers and getting broad smiles in return. Today I was walking down the street with an origami flower in my hand. As I approached a man walking in the opposite direction, we caught each other's eye and he pointed to the ground behind me and said, "Hey! You dropped your flower!" Without thinking, I immediately looked, panicked something else had fallen from my bag. Sure enough my flower was still in my hand, enveloped in my palm and five fingers. He laughed heartily and I grinned as we walked past each other.

I picked up the flower at a theatrical protest across the street from the UN building; General Assembly was in session and they were there to inform people about the travesty of Falun Gong in China. I was excited that the General Assembly was in town; it's one of the rare occasions the UN flies all the world flags in front of the building, so I was there to take pictures and observe, catch glimpses of world leaders and diplomats. As I walked down 42nd St from Grand Central Station, a police-escorted motorcade 15 cars long drove by, stopping traffic and me dead in our tracks. There were cars full of armed men in military attire carrying big guns, security guys wearing sunglasses and talking into their cuffs, and dignitaries with turbans. No flags were flying on any of the cars. I got excited at the prospect of being inside the building amonst those people.

As I approached the UN block, I discoverd that fantasy was exactly that; I wasn't even able to be on the same side of the street as the UN, hahaha. Nope, getting across the police line required a special badge and a purpose for being there (other than observation). Oh, well. I sauntered around by the barriers, took pictures of the flags, looked at all the important do-gooders walking by and wanted desperately for my life to have the kind of meaning theirs did.

Oo! And the day before, I took the D train down to Coney Island. I was riding the subway all day, looking for photo opportunities when I got a bug up my ass to go down the beach. I thought, "Hey. Just 'cos I left Florida doesn't mean I have to leave the beach." Ironically, going to Coney Island was the first time I'd been to the beach since early July.

The place was deserted and run down. I had a Nathan's Famous Hot Dog for the novelty of it, bought some posties and a soft serve, walked around on the boardwalk and didn't take my shoes off as I crossed the sand to get to the shore. Poor New Yorkers. I can't believe this is their idea of a beach.

Home is the Feeling I Buried in You*

*

Because I want to keep ya'll updated and because, somedays, I can't muster up the courage to call people and let them know I'm doing alright, I have created this blog for you. I know it's not the same as a phone call or email, but sometimes it's the best I can do. Feel free to share this with anyone. I mind not. I hope you enjoy/appreciate this. I'll keep it updated whenever I have news and sometimes just to rant 'n rave.

I love you. Thanks for making this (me) possible. I am Eternally Grateful (EG Muddy).