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This was rattling around in my brain, so I wrote it.  Reblogging from tumblr, as this is a far more permanent locale.  I'm not actually feeling that melodramatic today, I just needed the peptalk.

I think a lot of people with some form of depression or anxiety do this thing where we borrow happiness.  We give ourselves conditional happiness, or at least, we tell ourselves that x + y = happy.  We find things, be it a favored food or song or media or item, and we tell ourselves, if I’ve done x, if I’ve endured through some goal, I can have y.  That will be our reward.  It might not be the same thing as being actually happy but we’ve won our treat, and that should make us happy, right?

And sometimes, it works.  It might not be something that anyone else would recognize as a reward, or value, or even see the point of.  But you’ve earned it, however you had to in your brain, so you get Your One Thing.  Your tiny bit of happiness.

And that is good.  As good as you get.

So this is my reminder to myself, to everyone else who knows how this goes, that it is okay to beg, borrow, and (hopefully not but who am I to judge) steal, to do what you have to in order to have Your One Thing that will help keep the demons at bay just that little bit longer.  Your tiny bit of happy is for you, no one else, and no one else should judge what it is that you need to do to keep going.  Don’t let them take it away from you.

Keep your happy.  You’ve earned it.


Jun. 20th, 2013 12:20 am
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I know this is a long shot, but is anyone headed to Otakon with potential floor-crashing space?  I am totally willing to pay my way, but dropping $400 on a room for just me for the weekend is downright stupid and not happening.

I have to figure out in the next few days if I should definitely put in for vacation time or just let it go. . .  I know I'll save a lot of money if I don't go.   And awkward interactions with strangers, not really good incentive. 

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Beware, pontificating below. I should probably not be allowed to blog after sane people go to bed.

Read more... )
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So, I am a bit of an odd duck. Some people donate time and skills, some people donate money, some people donate stuff, and some people donate bits and pieces of themselves. I'm not exactly flush with money, I have an erratic work schedule with no useful skills, and I can't quite give up organs I'm still using. So, for me? When I'm done cleaning out my closets, I go in for a nice pint of the A+. I feed the hungry vampires as regularly as I can, and that is my charity. It's one of those things where . . . I do it because I can, when so many other people can't. I'm not a gay man, I don't do drugs, I don't get laid, I don't have tattoos/piercings (yet), I don't get wigged out by blood/needles/labcoats, and I don't suffer any unusual ill-effects from donating. It used to be kinda funny when they'd do the rundown of "How sketchy are you?" questions and I would rattle off "No" many times over. Now, it is all automated computer-confidential, so I get to tell the nurses "You'll have to ask me about Africa from five years ago, and that's it."

When I was in school, this meant that I'd sign up for the blood drives on campus, then get turned away multiple times over for being sick, having bled too much lately (nosebleeds are my nemesis), or having low iron from bad cafeteria food. (Not that much edible red meat on the menu, as you might expect.) Having graduated and being kept nice and plump on my retired father's cooking, I don't get turned away nearly as often now, but . . . where I donate gets kind of interesting. I have now seen the inside of way more churches than I was aware existed in a twenty mile radius. I get to chill out in hotel lobbies, I get to stare at bad circa-70s art deco chandeliers, and I get to listen to the Red Cross nurses bitch at each other about the hours, their supervisors, the really terrible places they've been. I bleed out pretty quickly, and then I distress people by popping up and heading for the door about five minutes after I'm done. XD By now, it is all pretty routine, and I get to feel good about it afterward.

Today, I was expecting to hit the gallon mark; my 8th pint, which is only 2 short of having provided a full refill in my lifetime. Except . . . I couldn't find the damned place. They listed it as being on a local campus; 'Awesome, I can get there,' I thought. Now, today, it was rainy, and half an hour before my appointment, I scribble down my directions for the 20 minute drive and off I go. . . . Not so fast, unfortunately. For whatever reason, my car decided that he would introduce me to the joys of slip-and-slide tires! At every red light, at every hard turn, there would be this lovely little lurch or slide. And, naturally, I forgot to account for the stop-and-start traffic at roughly lunch time as the directions take me down a road I normally avoid. By the time I get to the campus, it's almost ten minutes past my appointment time, and I'm telling myself it's okay, they'll take me when they can get me.

Except. . . this isn't the branch campus I'd been to before, this is the central middle-of-urban-center campus. There's no free parking that's not an establishment. There's a paid student only parking garage. There's visitor's center parking that is beyond a gate. And where the directions sent me, there are no signs for the drive. They're all on the opposite side of the street! I end up deciding to compromise, park in a restaurant parking lot clearly labeled "For customers only!" multiple times, and haul out over to look at the signs. "Campus blood drive today!" "11:30-5:00!" "Critical need!" . . . And notably, no word about what /building/ on campus it's at, when there are at least a dozen to choose from. All right. Time to look for arrow signs! Oh, there's three of them. Side by side. Pointing away from the street into the middle of the campus. Fair enough. I head that way . . . but there are no more signs. There's nothing on any of the building doors to indicate a stopping point. I wander around for awhile, getting damp, being stared at by students, and feeling more than a little foolish and uncertain about my car's future. (Totally going to be towed, that's my luck.) I finally see the Red Cross vans . . . parked next to a boarded up derelict elementary school. No signs anywhere in sight. I'd had it; I went back to rescue my misbehaving car from being towed and went home. That's the first time I've gone to donate and just gave up before even getting there. >_< So much for my gallon.


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January 2017



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