Lampshade on her head. Kind of.

Again with the cat photos

Now I see why you guys who participate in Weekend Cat Blogging limit the cat postings to weekends, lest the blog become All Cat, All the Time. As with parents and the multiple photos of their children, I suspect I'm the only one who thinks Shelby is irresistably adorable and finds it necessary to share every shot of her with the world. Anyhow, yeah. Here she is on the end table that M. made long before we knew each other. That's the dreaded book bag there on the floor, and my beloved Audubon guides on the end table.

I'm not feeling much like blogging, which is pretty much the way I seem to open every entry over the past several months. I'm feeling really stressed - school, work, my relationship with M., the fact that my grandfather is not doing well, the whole "getting older" schtick, my lack of fitness (and concomitantly my constantly injured knee)... all of this and more. It's burying me. Or, perhaps more appropriately, I'm letting it. As it has ever been, at least in the past year or so. I'm sure it makes for pretty tired reading. Sorry about that. It probably doesn't help much that a.) the antidepressants I finally decided I should take are showing no sign of working, b.) I'm not working out because my knee is trashed (which, really, is no excuse - there are plenty of things I could be doing), and c.) M. and I are struggling. It's just.... a lot. For me, anyhow. Trust me when I say I know that many people have it much worse. I understand that, and it makes me feel guilty for being such a wimpo. (note: I accidentally added an "o" to the end of that word. it made me laugh, so it's staying.)

At any rate, I'm not doing all that well. Seeing myself write stuff like this YET AGAIN makes me cringe, believe me, it does. Seems to be the story of my life. Every journal I've ever written since the dawn of time (except for maybe the one I wrote in fourth or fifth grade, when most entries were about my new best friend Shannon, how annoying my brother was, and how much I hated being forced to go to Girl Scouts) has been all about "starting over," - fixing myself, trying to feel better, trying to be better. Over and over and over, nearly every year of my life since my teens. I never get there, and I inevitably crash, and then I spend literally years in this grey haze, time flying by, me getting nowhere and feeling like crap. As down as I am, I'm not nearly as down as I could be, which is a relief. It's not really fun feeling like a mound of fat grey nothingness either, though. Not that life is about fun - I just wish I could feel more alive. I wish I could start enjoying the here and now, stop hurting all the time, stop being so sensitive, so walled-off, so emotionally adolescent. Gah.

A coworker of mine died last Thursday. Her death was completely unexpected; I just found out about it this morning. She was 55 years old, but she looked 40 (or younger) - red haired, freckled, and fit - and she acted 25. She was so vibrant, so alive. We weren't close; she generally worked here only in the summer (during the school year she taught at a local college), but we went out to lunch a number of times, and certainly knew each other well enough to have interesting conversations on occasion. Lately she'd been very stressed, as she was switching jobs, struggling financially, and was in the midst of being treated for Lyme disease. There have been whispers that this was perhaps a suicide. I have a really hard time believing that - she just seemed to find so much juice in life. Her death is tragic. I don't know if we'll find out what happened or not - an autopsy was done because she was a healthy person, but we may not hear the results.

Her passing reminds me that you just never know how much time you have. How many times could be your last time - your last sunset, your last kiss, your last walk in the woods. I'm not saying these things to be morbid - I just want to know, really know in my heart and soul, that life can be good. Life can be enjoyed and full of beauty. I want to feel those things. I'm so tired of being so tired.

Until later, ta.