No one thinks you’re funny when you’re depressed.
I’m just not so sure about a God that is just as generous with inexplicable death as he is with parking spots.
I mean, what exactly is the point in praying for her food when her dad died six days before she was born from something the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the state explained by saying “I don’t know why this happened.”
“Running in the morning is a good way to ensure that your day doesn’t get any worse.” And even though I saw it on Twitter, I hope there is some scientific truth to this meme as I set my alarm for 5 AM and set my running shoes by the door.
“You’re expecting that cry-eat-sleep stage.”
“It happens. It is normal with newborns. And how are you doing?”
“…I’m sorry. I thought we were talking about me.”
Depression and Cheese is a recipe I created around the time of my quarter life crisis. It is where you take a perfectly good macaroni and cheese recipe and substitute most of the ingredients with ones you already have and leave out the ones you’re too poor or lazy to buy. It tastes exactly what you think it tastes like. It tastes exactly how you feel.
Glue your heart back together with mozzarella and paint it with pinot.
It’s almost been three weeks. The rest of the world seems to have jumped back into their routines while I still sit and sleep with this thing, or the loss of it, on an hourly basis and I’m reminded of it even more. In this instance, what, exactly, is the right response to “How are you?”
And maybe it’s because the effects are wearing off, but hearing that my insurance is no longer valid from the pharmacist filling my prescription for anti-depressants is just about the funniest thing I’ve experienced in the last two weeks.
I’m so tired of being poor and unimportant.