The Long, Dark Weekend of the Soul

Feeling rather depressed right now. Not sure why. More on that later. We went out with friends Saturday. Mostly wandering around downtown Nashville looking at tacky souvenir shops and ducking into pubs so they could drink the occasional beer. It was mid-afternoon, so the bad elements hadn't put in an appearance yet. At least, not in great numbers. There were the usual panhandlers asking for spare change, but that's about it. I was amused by one of my friends responses to one such attempt. "Why don't you get a spare job." Indeed. I've been nearly as low as they are and I didn't resort to begging. But then, perhaps I was just lucky that it never came to that. Not quite. I will admit that I had a problem with alcohol once, a very long time ago. Spent a bad month living in my car when I was 20 or so. Not sure if it was the memory of that time in my life, or even more bitter memories of my biological father (which I do not care to elaborate on) that caused me to have a panic attack going into one of the drinking establishments late in our outing. Suddenly I simply couldn't take the noise, the crowds, the smell. I had to get out. I had to be somewhere else. It was rather embarrassing and I'm not really sure why I'm sharing the incident here, to be honest. Everyone was very understanding and we managed to salvage the rest of the evening with a nice dinner at The Spaghetti Factory, but the whole situation still bothers me more than a little. I hadn't been drinking, but I had been suffering from a lingering headache most of the day. Perhaps that had something to do with it.

On Sunday Ysabel was sick, which always sucks, but we went to rapier practice anyway. I wouldn't let her fight, though, which annoyed her. It was really hot and humid at the park, so our bouts were half-hearted at best. I came home light-headed, sore and feeling very old.

Today I went on call for work and even though I supposedly had the day off for Labor Day (which I always found ironic) I still ended up having to remote into my work computer to finish a project that was left over from last week. No rest for the weary, you know. After that, I helped Ysabel clean up some of the piles of assorted stuff that have been accumulating around our bedroom. It needed doing, as we had been putting it off, but something about going through all that stuff has made me strangely maudlin. Is this the totality of my life? The assorted mementos and possessions gathered over the long years of one's life tell a story, but sometimes that story isn't one that deserves retelling. Does mine? Is what I have become worth the struggles and hardships endured to reach this point? As I look at the stacks of clothing, books, photos and other odds and ends, I remember the me that existed when those things were aquired and I wonder. Who was I back then? How have I come to be the me I am now? Who will I be in ten years? What happened to the dreams of the person I was twenty years ago? Are the dreams and hopes I hold today going to vanish unrealized into the distant reaches of memory as well? I don't know. But writing this has helped me put my dark state of mind into some sort of perspective. I actually feel better for putting it into words. I hope you don't mind my taking up a bit of your time for some much needed cathartic self-examination. I guess that's part of what blogs, and friends, are for.