Earlier in the week at painting class, one of the regulars said something about my being smiley. He said I was always smiley. The smiliest! My response was, “Really?” I was legitimately surprised. I mean, I certainly want to be a smiley gal. I want to be happy, for cry-eye.

 

Lately I seem to be battling the blahs. I think some of it has to do with my lingering physical junk. Maybe most of it, in fact. And until I get that situation all healed -up, there’s not much to be done. So I’m tolerating these here blahs, y’all, but make no mistake. I don’t like it.

 

I remember listening to an old Beauty and Da Beast podcast. I’m sorry to say I don’t recall the name of the person being interviewed, but something he said has stuck with me. He was talking about a low point in his life and how he felt unable to pull himself out from beneath the weight of it all. He told how at night, he would try to think of 3 things he wanted to accomplish the next day. Some nights one of the things he listed for himself was to simply get out of bed the following morning. And he gave himself reasonable (for him) goals, so that he could feel some sense of accomplishment. As he began to feel better about himself and more in control of his life, he ramped up the goals. At the time of that interview, he was doing okay.

 

With that dude’s experience in mind, each night I try to tally 3 things I accomplished during the day. I do this silently, as it’s only for me. I’m not gonna lie to you. Some days my list is made up of things like “I washed the fruit” or “I remembered to put the trash cans on the street.” And as mundane as those tasks sound, I count those little victories. In the face of the blahs, getting through some days is quite an accomplishment, in and of itself.

 

I don’t know if you’ve ever dealt with your own version of depression or not, so I have no idea if you can relate to any of this. I suppose the blahs don’t look the same for any of us. I also suppose that unless your name is Pollyanna, you can relate – on some level. For that, I am sincerely sorry. Depression is ugly. And I don’t wish it upon anyone.

 

In the meantime, I’m fakin’ it. I’m going through the motions of my life and doing the best I can. I’m either doing a damn good job, or I’m not as blah-ed out as I think, because a very lovely gentleman told me I’m smiley. The smiliest, in fact. And I’ll take that.

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