Depression

Autumn has always been a difficult time of year for me, even as far back as when I was a teenager.

It's the start of allergy season.  It's when the Sun climbs less high in the sky every day.  It's when school really starts to get serious.

Well, I'm not in school anymore, but my daughter is.  I get up before dawn to help her get ready for the day -- make her breakfast, pack her lunch, and see her off.  Plus I make sure the cats and dog are fed.  Otherwise they might try to steal her food.

She's a senior this year, so we're expending additional effort for the college search and application process.  But there's no money.  So this year is especially difficult for me.

The many months I've been acting as my wife's care-giver has worn me out.  She's had an open sore since June of last year that refuses to heal.  No medical professional really knows what to do about it.  I've been changing the dressing every two days.  Two surgeons want to operate, but how that wound is going to heal no one explains.  My wife's other chronic unhealthiness is getting even more expensive.  Plus she self-medicates with shopping trips.

And get this: the roof is starting to leak.

A doctor once suggested that I might have low-level depression.  I told him there's nothing to be happy about.  Every freakin' thing I really enjoy is either unhealthy, too time consuming, or (somewhat) immoral. Sometimes I can muster "satisfaction" or "pride," but nothing approaching happiness, joy or elation.

Let me eat as much ice cream as I want (without discomfort or ill effects). Let me sleep three hours more each day and work on my blog for a few hours. Let me not have to worry about my wife. Let me have these things, then can we talk about happy.