"Depression is just anger without enthusiasm"

The last two weeks have been a bit unfortunate, with the Black Dog prowling and growling in the bushes outside the reach of the campfire light; I just lost enthusiasm for my enthusiasms. I think it’s lifted. The worst thing about Depression isn’t the sense that you’re ac-centuating the negative, it’s that you’re seeing things the way they really are, stripped of the illusions you use every day to divert yourself from the Yawning Maw of Futility. It’s the wind that blows off the snow and reveals the stone.

- Lileks

I know I have not been writing much lately - sorry. It is just that a smothering black cloud has descended on my soul. It's depression all right.

(BTW - if you have e-mailed me lately and not received a reply - I have your email and will reply in time. For some reason, I just can't manage an e-mail more than two sentances long lately. Please be patient with me.)

I am not big on the use of the word "depression". I think it gets bandied about more than it should. Have I been sad in the last two years? Sure. Have I been angry? Felt futility? Have there been days where I didn't know how I would make it from the office coffee maker to my desk without collapsing on all fours and howling for mercy? You bet. But have I been depressed? Mmmmm . . . I wouldn't go that far . . .

But here we are.

What drives a person to this place? Where all that once seemed bright is now burdened? Well, lack of sleep, for one. Work-related stress for another. Financial stress, stress having to do with extended family members, the constant, never-ending "Oh my effing God, is my daughter going to be okay?" sort of stress. (That last one doesn't seem to lessen with time btw).

As I have said before, part of my make up is to rally in a crises. When the flames of life are licking at your bedroom door and there is no other hope than a hero who bursts in to save you, I am your man. Jaw-set, piercing eyes and rock solid. But afterwards? Once the smoke has cleared? Keep the sharp objects outta my reach. Oh, and you better bring extra hankies because I am more likely than not poised to descend into a . . . . well, let's just say it ain't pretty. And any and all those feelings you may have had of "You're my hero" will most likely be unravelled in the ensuing days and weeks of . . . . well, it ain't pretty.

So why now? Why the black cloud these past few weeks? Who knows, I have rambling semi-coherant theories that I won't spell out here because they are twice as long as they are interesting.

I guess the best way to describe it is to relate a story from my college table-waiting days.

In college I worked for a few years at the Old Spaghetti Factory in downtown San Diego. This is what is known as a "turn-and-burn" restaurant. When your average patron spends under $10 for a meal, you ain't going to make any decent scratch unless you get those diners in and out - all about volume baby. This led to some pretty drastic actions from time to time.

We had these large oval trays that could accommodate 8-10 dinners if you knew how to stack them right. And I was one of only two or three who could muscle two of those trays at the same time - 16-20 dinners a trip.

One night I was asked to run some dinners to a large party in one of our back dining rooms. I hefted the first tray of dinners with my right hand and heaved the tray into position above my right shoulder.

I slid my left hand under the second tray, shimmied it out from off the serving counter and heaved it into position above my left shoulder. And I was off and running.

I angled the trays through the serving door and was greeted with the usual astonished onlookers . . . "Honey! Look at THAT guy! Isn't this place crazy fun?" Through the crowded lobby, "Scuze me folks! Comin' through!", down the hall past the bathrooms and into the back dining room.

All the tables had been set up as one long banquet table and there were about 35 hungry patrons who let out a cheer when they saw me come through the doors.

"Not here!" Exclaimed a fellow waiter - "those are my dinners for the next dining room over . . ."

I groaned, marshaled my strength and, partially buoyed by the all the attention, headed down the two stairs to the next dining room where another party had been set up identical to the first - long table, 35 people or so.

The second table let out a cheer while the first table groaned and I now had the full attention of 70-odd people while I muscled two increasingly heavy trays of pasta from one dining room to the next. That's when it all went wrong.

In my hurry, my exhaustion and my carelessness, I clipped one of the door jams with one of the trays and the plates shifted to one end. I compensated immediately and the plates shifted back - just a tad too far - the tray tipped in the other direction . . .

I shifted again, this time with more earnestness. Only, by doing so, I tipped the second tray, causing all those plates to shift . . . .

Cries of "Uh-Oh" went up from all 70 of my audience-members . . . both the trays shifted inwards, then outwards . . . I broadened my stance, bent my legs, bent at the waist . . . all in an effort to avoid the unthinkable . . . . plates of pasta were clattering from one end of each tray to the other . . .

And then it hit me. I can't save these dinners and only a fool would keep trying. I gave up, accepted my fate and let the two trays smash together like the cymbals of a philharmonic orchestra.

I was ankle deep in pasta and broken china.

A cheer went up from both tables - some people even stood and clapped.

What is my point? A few days ago I had decided that I just can't manage it all and felt like letting all the plates clatter to the floor. But unlike actual plates in a restaurant which fall in seconds, the platters of life can take days or weeks to reach their ignominious end.

It seems as if the last of my plates have arrived at their ultimate destination. What to do now? Take a bow, apologize, and head back to the kitchen to start all over again. . . . avoid the manager on the way . . . .

Oh, it's a depression, all right - but maybe I have reached the bottom . . . .

UPDATE:

I just heard this article on the radio