Just in time for the weekend!

mememe, I me my…that’s what my parents would say. “Stop talking about yourself, nobody wants to hear it.” they’d say. And, believe it or not, in real life I don’t talk about myself. When I do it’s very self conciously and quite short lived. But, here on my blog I can talk about me talk about my talk about i me my…anyway.

My depression of the past few weeks has lifted over the last couple of days. Like a fog bank lifting, or the peeling off of a film, just..there it goes. What a relief. I hate feeling like that. It’s difficult…no…impossible to have fun when you’re feeling like Gollum hunched at the bottom of a slime filled cave.

Now, I’m feeling fine. Fine enough that I spent some money and got SD a surprise. No, I won’t tell you what it is. It’s personal, and completely out of character for me so I know he’ll be pleased in a sort of “who are you and where’s my wife?” way.

Is this good feeling ominous? Maybe, its too early to tell. Maybe not. Maybe I’m just feeling good like a normal person.

What sucks in general is having to constantly evaluate my moods, to figure out if they’re “real” or if they’re a manifestation of my disorder. I mean, think about it. Supposed you decide to splurge and spend some money on something for your honey, something way out of character, causing Agnes McCalvinox to bust out the pipe organ and play Toccata and Fugue in D Minor in your head as you’re watching the clerk swipe the uncharacterisitc item and put it in the bag.

Ok, it’s not a sex toy. You can’t get sex toys at Walmart, not at least ones that are obvious.

So, is my desire to do something nice for my husband legitimate, or is it a symptom of a brain disease?

Does it matter?