Snowshoe, our lynx, really doesn't like snow.
Oh, the blues again. No boyfriend, no health club, no money, no excitement, no interests, no time. It must be March. Or close enough.
I've arm-wrestled with depressive moods before. Sometimes I win, sometimes the mood prevails. My depressions are not the scary black holes some writers describe, but more of a flatline effect. My old therapist could recognize them, even when I couldn't, because I would start to lose interest in everything. There's a psychiatric term for it, even: dysthymia, basically a low-grade low. It comes and goes. Pharmaceuticals can help, but not always enough.
What helps most is Henry, the cats and dog, movies, knitting with friends and work - anything that takes me out of myself for awhile. What helps least is alcohol, Neighbor X troubles, boredom and helpful friends who recommend odd diet regimens.
It's snowing here, which I love. It looks great and feels festive and cozy. That helps too. Things will get better - they always do, before they slide downhill again.
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