I didn’t mind wasting this time for these two videos. Both movie-related and probably only interesting to a smattering of people. Oh - and both feature Hugo Weaving in some way.

First, someone’s attempt to subtitle a scene from “V for Vendetta” to remove some of the rhetoric and translate it for the internet age.

And then, a little behind-the-scenes featurette from The Transformers movie showing the faces behind the voices of the Autobots and Decepticons. I find this kind of thing interesting. I’m a geek. Whatever.

“…goes to my heaaaaad…” Tell me you don’t sing along when you hear that UB40 song on the radio. Tell me you don’t.

I did some cooking today (a more healthful distraction than most) and prepared some of this Bhutanese red rice I bought a few weeks ago. It’s delicious and nutty and toothsome (is that a word? and am I using it properly? too lazy to check right now) and I think it’s pretty nice-looking, too.

And suddenly, I am craving red wine. I have a few bottles here, but to open one would mean trying to drink it alone tonight and I’m not that much of a woman. Perhaps a gin and tonic. If I have tonic. Which I don’t. Ah, well. Regular old iced tea will suffice.

This morning, I got to work early to get some things done before my cadre of meetings. Because that’s what today was.

I wanted to make myself some tea and then looked at my desk where I normally have my obnoxiously huge but perfectly-sized-really mug that I use for tea. It wasn’t there. And yesterday came flooding back to me… pouring out my tea at the end of the day, rinsing my mug, going to the ladies’ room, putting down the mug on the counter, leaving the ladies’ room…. with the notable exception of forgetting the mug.

WIth all the other stress and feeling down that I’ve been doing, this was a kind of last straw. I just wanted a comforting mug of tea. But I was a bloody moron and I left it in the bathroom where the cleaning people probably took it and threw it out. I don’t forget things. This is not me; I just don’t. I don’t lose keys, misplace papers, forget where I put my glasses. So I’ve been beating myself up all day (between meetings) over the sheer stupidity I exhibited in forgetting my mug, which I’ve had for the three years I’ve been at my job.

It’s stupid and ridiculous and you can laugh; I would laugh too if I weren’t on the brink of depression and insanity, but I almost cried when I realized it was my fault it was gone. I called our corporate services desk to see if it had been turned in to the lost & found or something, but it hadn’t. So it’s gone and I’m angry.

I don’t know whether I should go to Target or Home Goods and see if I can find a new obnoxiously large mug for tea, but this one was perfect. It really really was. And I’m genuinely pissed and upset at myself and this is what I do. I beat myself up over stupid stupid shit like misplacing a mug. Because I should know better. I should remember these little things. That’s what makes me, me. Now I feel too tired and angry to leave the house and deal with people.

Also, I’m not improving mentally. I’ve been thinking things like, “I only get up in the morning and go through the motions every day because it’s expected of me.” I take no joy or pleasure in anything. Food is for sustenance. Sleep is to pass the time between days with some unconsciousness because being conscious exhausts and saddens me. Everything else is Distraction, parading around in its sequined suspenders and platform clown shoes, keeping things noisy so that I’m not left alone with my thoughts. I’m more concerned with letting people down and being seen as irresponsible than I am about how sad it is that I don’t care about anything - and that’s what’s driving me. My heart isn’t in anything. I’m tired of this.

My brother called me while I was on my way home from work. He got food poisoning from some bad shrimp and asked me to get him some Gatorade. So I did, brought it to his apartment, and then left because he just wanted to sleep. It hit me: I am a resource. I am useful. I am here to perform my functions as a sister, daughter, friend, co-worker. I’ll drive you to the airport, notarize your papers, buy you Gatorade, do my job, do your job, take your guilt trip, provide support… whatever. I’m highly proficient at being there and doing stuff. I’m not here to enjoy life and that’s kind of good because I’m really not enjoying it lately.

Lesson 1: a steering wheel does not make a steady tripod.

But the blurry shot is interesting in a “Lost Highway” sort of way.

I’ve been having an exceedingly difficult time thinking of words lately. I feel rather sluggish and stupid. Not good. I also have random phrases and words on repeat in my head for no apparent reason. Like today, the phrase, “you will know us by the trail of our dead.” I couldn’t think of where it was coming from, so I googled it.”And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead” is an art rock band, according to Wikipedia. A band that got its name from a Mayan chant. I don’t know the band and I don’t know much about Mayans. So, that’s not it… but I fully admit that I might’ve read about the band somewhere in my musical discovery travels and the phrase could be sticking with me as a result. It’s just annoying.

What’s also annoying is how stressed and frustrated and absolutely drained of life and energy I’ve been feeling lately. And how alone and disconnected, even more so than last week — since the height of happiness over the weekend that came from attending the birth of my friend’s child is making the current low that much lower. This is why I try not to get my hopes up about things; the higher the hopes, the more dramatic the fall.

I’ve been sighing a lot and crying a lot and generally not myself. None of the usual distractions are doing a good job of distracting me; nothing is fun or enticing or interesting. I am burying myself in work and that’s not good either since that’s just stressing me out more. I’ve been through it enough times at this point. I get it. Textbook depression. This is onset. Sleep disruption, change in appetite (loss), anhedonia (inability to find pleasure in things that are normally pleasurable), crying for no reason, aches and pains, irritability, moodiness, lethargy - and I just feel sort of wrong and empty. I don’t know what’s worse - feeling palpably hollow and cold inside or the anhedonia.

There’s no pleasure to be found in books, friends, movies, food, photography, writing, work, sleep, shopping, talking. None of it. Everything feels burdensome and boring. I’m not generally jaded, but lately? Yes. Nothing feels right.

Even this post sucks and feels wrong. I might delete it in a few days when I feel that it’s a waste of time. Because it’s what I do, like a dog trying to kick dirt up over its shit.

I decide to post something like this:

Tomorrow, I get to work from home. I’ve got some large-scale InDesign work to complete — as well as three mammoth spreadsheets to review and update.

Now that I think about it, one day might not be enough, but I’m trusting that the peace and quiet of an empty house rather than the usual bustle of the office might allow me to get “in the zone” much more quickly and plow through what I have to do.

I do well working from home. I wish I could exercise as much self-discipline when it comes to exercise and physical health as I do with work… and as I did with papers and research in college and grad school. I’m a bit of an introverted endomorph, I suppose, and performing sedentary mental tasks is easier for me.

Anyway, I’m still quite tired from this weekend. I’m going to make some mint tea and settle in for the night. I wish the weather was more fall-like. Today was another day of almost 90 degree weather; I’m ready for fall and the wearing of colorful tights and new boots and long sleeves.

So I was part of something pretty surreal and important this weekend - the birth of my friends’ first child. When they found out she was pregnant, they asked me to be her doula (labor assistant). I’m not a trained doula, and there isn’t an official certification program in the US, but the basic idea is that you’re there alongside the father, midwife/OBGYN and other medical professionals but your purpose is to help the mother. That’s basically it: talk to her, hold her hand, reassure her, bring her cold cloths or warm blankets, help her get up and lie down, help her walk around and get through the laboring process and the pain until baby is born. It doesn’t sound like much, but believe me when I tell you that it’s intense. While the new mommy’s pain certainly outdoes mine, I was surprised at how much pain and soreness I’m feeling today. Of course, I also smashed my toe into a rock and possibly broke it, but that was in no way baby-related*.

On Friday, my friend called me and told me she was in labor and that she’d probably need me that night. I drove over to her house after work, but after a few hours, things weren’t progressing that quickly, so we decided that I could go home and try to get a bit of sleep. I got home around 11, did some laundry and cleaning and fell asleep sometime after 1:00. She called me at 3:57 in the morning saying that it was getting close and that by the time I got to their house (I live about 45 minutes away), it would be time to drive to the hospital.

I don’t think I’ve ever been that awake and alert at that early an hour EVER in my life. I got my stuff together, got in the car, stopped at a 24-hour Dunkin’ Donuts for a coffee (a rarity in my world - only used when truly needed) and drove over. It had been raining most of the day Friday, and this was early Saturday morning, so there was fog and mist everywhere. Visibility was bad, but it made for an eerily pretty (and perilous) drive at 4 in the morning. I got there a bit after 5, and we left for the hospital.

I won’t retell the whole story because that’s her story and she might not want the details of her child’s birth shared on the internets. I can just tell you that mommy did a crazy good job and that daddy, labor nurses, midwives and I all did our share and were very proud to be there when this brand new baby boy was born. I can only speak for myself in this situation since I was a bit of an interloper (though I was invited and honored, so not really an interloper because that would mean I was uninvited) - it was surreal. It was powerful. It was weird. It was intimate. It was tiring. It was hard. It was totally gratifying. It showed me some things about myself and how I deal with things and how much I can (for lack of better phraseology) live outside of myself and ignore my own bullshit for someone I care about.

That said, it wasn’t a life-changing experience; I didn’t walk away thinking about anything differently than I did before - except thinking that my friend is 300% stronger than I where before it was only 200%. But I think it will have some effect on my friendship with this couple and their child (in a positive way). I’m still not on the baby bandwagon; if anything, having this up-close-and-personal experience further cemented my belief that it’s going to take one hell of an incredible guy with some incredible persuasion skills and who knows how to talk to me, and one hell of a mind-altering life change for me to even start to think about this, ever. You really have to want a child to get through this without going a little insane. I guess one thing I did walk away with was a much grander appreciation of what my mother went through giving birth to not one but FOUR children, naturally and without painkillers.

Anyway, when all was said and done, we’d all been awake and working hard for about 18 hours - and about 10 more than that in the mommy’s case, so she was a crazy good trooper who pushed through it admirably. I was feeling the back pain and pain in my heels and legs yesterday - today was all about the neck and lower back and shoulders. When you spend 12 hours administering backrubs and other such stuff, it gets to you. I won’t dare complain because it’s not bad pain; it’s just soreness from intense activity.

Another thing that was fun was when the labor and delivery nurse (after the birth) asked me how I was related to the mother and father; she asked if I was their doula. My friend and I replied that I was a friend and was playing the role of doula, but wasn’t a professional. The nurse replied that she thought I was a “real” doula… which was interesting. I’m not thinking about it (it’s too much - far too much), though if I were so inclined, I could apparently make good money (around $1600 per birth).

But I got home late last night and went to the mailbox to pick up the mail. I stubbed my toe on a stepping stone and I think it’s either broken or just a bad bruise. It hurts and it’s ugly. Take a look at that busted toe. Mmm-hmm. It sure is ugly.

That’s the opposite of the baby. I visited them in the hospital today and he’s a gorgeous specimen. Sorry - you don’t get cute baby photos here. They’re not mine to share without parental permission. You get pictures of my nasty-ass, bruised-up, un-pedicured, possibly broken toe… because I’m a moron and after being awake for 20+ hours, I can’t be trusted to walk correctly. I also slammed the car door shut on that same foot today and then tripped up the stairs, further aggravating the pain. It’s almost comical, really.

Except it’s not.

… a vacation.
… some blunt object to hit me in the head and put me into a coma for a few weeks.
… to win the lottery and spend the next year decorating a beautiful house I’d buy with my winnings and going back to grad school to pursue whatever intellectual pursuits I want next.
… sleep.
… my routine back.
… to really know that the people I care about also care about me.
… time to figure out what’s next.
… to get back into writing or something creative.
… a hug.
… a martini, but only one.
… to calm the fuck down already.
… to not care.
… to stop feeling this way.
… to boost my emotional immune system.
… a warm bath.

I’m moving into some bad mental territory. It’s triggered by stress, but that doesn’t make it any less real or valid. Now is when I start with the distractions… because if I leave myself alone with my thoughts for too long in a state like this, bad cyclical thoughts and things will happen and I will revert back to a person to whom I thought I’d bid a final farewell about this time last year.

I’m way tired and ouchie and uncomfortable. But here’s something that removed me from my self for a bit - this interesting World Names Profiler site. You type in your surname (that’s your last name if’n you don’t cotton to the British English) and it shows you the origin of your surname and density (people per million sharing that name).

It was pretty goshdarn accurate in my case. And I’ve got a Polish last name that doesn’t even end in “-ski”. And, of course, I checked me friends’ last names. In most cases, they matched up pretty perfectly with what they consider to be their ethnic origins. In one case, I was quite surprised to see that my friend’s last name is more common in Poland than anywhere else in the world, and I don’t think he considers Polish to be a large part of his ethnic mix. I knew it was a part, but the surname wasn’t all that familiar to me…

Anyway… I just checked a bunch of last names - friends, celebrities, authors… because I find that to be a relaxing way to waste some time when I’m tired and feeling brainless.