This Weekend's List

I left work on Friday knowing I was up for a busy weekend - but good busy. Fun busy. Interesting and varied busy.

Just what the doctor ordered. Okay, maybe not a medical doctor, but after a fortnight of minor glums, I was in need of some company, some exercise and some different things to bolster the spirits.

In  this blog I've addressed the fact that every so often I get a shot of the blues. Melancholy, low-level depression, the glums, call it what you like. For the last fortnight I've been a bit out of sorts, a little down in the dumps. Compared to glums of the past, this was a minor bump - I've been functioning, things have been kept going, but I've not been quite right. Once I recognised what was going on, identified the catalyst, I measures were taken to fix it. Time out, exercise, good food, no alcohol, watch who I hang out with - and thankfully I come back to an equilibrium in a week or so. By last Friday I was pretty much back to normal.

And a good, busy weekend was required to completely knock the glums for six.

So the list for this weekend read like this:

1) Take possession of new cat (Friday night)
2) Meditation and breakfast (Saturday Morning)
3) Manicure, pedicure, coffee and cake (Saturday Afternoon)
4) Christmas in July - in June (Saturday evening)
5) Pump Class (Sunday Morning)
6) 1000 Steps (Sunday Lunchtime)
7) Visit Blarney (Sunday Afternoon)
8) Try and get the book group book read for Tuesday night.

So, Friday night, Sam drops of cat number two.

Maow Maow went home on Tuesday night and the place has seemed a bit empty since then. Sam and her family are off to Europe for a month and I offered to take Tia the cat. She's a lovely little girl, a bit older and a lot less needy than the Maow Maow. She's also quite a bit smaller and a hell of a lot fluffier.

When I said I'd take her, I asked Sam if she could provide a covered litter tray. As the cat accoutrements live in the kitchen when a cat comes to stay, a covered litter tray is a must at my place. Sam rocked up just after dinner, black and white fluffy unit in tow, a month's worth of food and litter and no covered litter tray. She apologised and gave me some money to go source one -she said she's looked for one, but they were hard to come by.

It seems that a cat box is a bit harder to find than I thought.

(Where the hell do you think you're going, eh. Come back here and pat me!)

Thankfully all of the joyous habits the Maow Maow inflicts on me have gone with his departure - the sleeping under the duvet (after asking to come in), knocking everything off the bedside table at 5.30 in the morning, landing you with the mother of all guilt trips as you go to work.... Tia just wants to cuddle and talk and that is about it. Lovely girlie, but in need of a covered poo box to make her stay perfect. She's been sleeping at my hip on top of the covers - it's wonderful. But added to the list of jobs was find a covered cat litter tray. She's here for a month, it would do my head not to have one after a day or two.

Saturday morning came and went. A lovely meditation session with the normal fortnightly meditation crew. Breakfast at our regular, exceptional cafe in Caulfield (Cafe D'Lish). A good meditate and some smashed avocado with Persian feta on sour dough toast is always a great start to the weekend.

On the way home, stopped in on Kmart - no covered litter trays in store.

After a quick stop home, it was off to Camberwell for an afternoon of girlie delight. Jonella, her sister and mum and Teddy joined me. Two hours of hanging around our favourite nail bar in Camberwell for a manicure and pedicure each, after having a teased Jonella for feeling anxious about having her toes and fingers in clashing colours (she did well, blue toenails, peach fingernails in the end - we're very proud of her) after which it was off for cake and coffee - another tradition.

In all, a near perfect afternoon - but after a shop with Teddy where two pairs of winter, leather boots were purchased (the perfect two toned black flat riding boot and a long black heeled boots - wanted, half-needed and half priced) and a stop in at Target - still no cat litter box. Two pairs of perfect leather boots, yes, but no cat dumping ground.

The Annual Christmas in July was held that evening. Hosted by one of one of Blarney's friends, this is an annual event held at a South Melbourne pub. As a rule, there is a $10 Kris Kringle - boys buy for boys, girls buy for girls - as well as a Christmas dinner that you can eat without indigestion or suffering from it being 35 degrees Celsius in the shade. It was a very pleasant evening, even though the room was very noisy and rather hot and after a few hours, it was time for me to leave from the exhaustion of asking people to repeat them self every two minutes.

Popping in at Woolworths on the way home, once again I left yet another supermarket without the coveted covered cat litter tray.

A good night's sleep, a cuddle with the cat, 100 pages of The Sound of One Hand Clapping down (250 to go) it was time to get out of the house.

The required pump class was great. It was the first time in a few months that Em and I had made our Sunday constitutional. An hour later, 25 kg squat track, far too many push ups and a killer lunge track, we left for a quick coffee. We stopped in at the pet store and Kmart at the shopping centre.

No covered cat poo trays to be bought.

I made my way out to Ferntree Gully to meet the girls from the 12 Week Body Transformation Challenge. It was the day to climb a Dandenong. It's great catching up with Trin, Kez and a few others. The day being rather damp, we made our way up the 1000 Steps. I hung back with Trin, talking on the way up talking it very easily, trying to put the world to rights and making sure we didn't sli[. We let the whippets streak ahead. It was great to take the steps slowly, especially as they were so slippery. Making matters worse, when we got to the top, our normal way down, via the Lyrebird Track, was closed - and for the first time ever, I had to pick my way down the stairs.

Anybody who knows me will attest to the fact that I am dreadful at walking down stairs. I am one of the least sure of foot people on the planet. Going up I'm fine. Going down I have to take stock of my fear of falling, slightly dodgy needs, lack of balance and hope for the best.

Part of me thought that I'd be wailing, bawling and whining about having to make my way down the slippery steps. Somehow, very carefully, taking our time, Trin and I made our way back down. 30 minutes up the hill, 45 minutes down. My quads are groaning a bit at the moment, but I did it - no complaints and no tears. It was brilliant. Also had a chance to take some photos on the way up.

On the way out to Blarneys, I passed a Bunnings - surely they'd have a covered cat poo tray. It's Bunnings (think Home Depot or B&Q) they have everything. I asked the dude at the front desk where the pet crap was kept. He told me - and send me to the dog house department. After a scour around the two acre building, I came away empty handed.

No covered cat poo tray.

Obligatory Sunday visit to Blarney and the boys occurred after this - a cuddle from the Maow Maow, who appeared happy to see me. A cup of tea, a chin wag, read the boys a book and talked football with Blarney.

Making my way home, I spied a pet supplies story just around the corner from where I live. I drove in. I looked around.

A veritable Mecca of covered cat poo trays!

Finally!

I left with the obligatory tray (as well as a hairbrush for the girlie - Sam left that behind too, and being a long haired critter, a daily brushing is good for her - keeps her happy)

So now it's time for bed - after a really successful weekend. I'm relaxed, pretty much up for everything the week has in store.

And even better, I'm not trying to source something you think would be easy to find.

Right, off to bed. Come on, Tia. Bed time.

Pandx

Isolation

One of the first signs that I'm spiralling into depression is an overwhelming feeling of having no control. I want to run. I have no idea what to do with myself. I can't settle. I feel unloved, unwanted and alone. I become hypersensitive to noise and movement. I start having major sense of humour failures. Food and exercise regimes go out the window.

The sooner I catch it, the better.

I'm hoping that I've got this one in time. The longer it lasts, the longer it takes to get rid of.

Looking at the list above, this is what my week has looked like.

And I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm in one of my depressive cycles and now is the time to sort it.
Work is a contributing factor to all this. I've moved jobs, I'm learning a new role, one in which I feel somewhat unsupported - though I know I can do the work - I'm just without much guidance. The office is about two kilometres away from the last one just out of the city, where I'd made friends. My new team of three aren't particularly social, but this isn't saying they're not nice either - and there is nothing to do and nowhere to go at lunch, unless you take your sandwiches to the park. The local coffee shop makes coffee that tastes like mud - though thankfully the coffee machine in the kitchen provides perfectly drinkable espresso.

Most disturbing is the radio that plays constantly throughout the day. Our pod is directly under the tannoy. Set to MIX FM and GOLD FM, it reminds me constantly of the music they played at the Blue Light Discos of the early eighties. Here are some of the gems from yesterday:

Call Me - Blondie
Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen
The Wall - Pink Floyd
Who can it be now? - Men at Work
The Boys are Back on Town - Thin Lizzy
You Can't Hurry Love - Phil Collins
Dream Police - Cheap Trick
Maneater - Hall and Oates
American Pie - Don McLean
What You Need - INX
Your Song - Elton John
Young Turks - Rod Stewart
True - Spandau Ballet
Staying Alive - The Bee Gees
Set on you - George Harrison
Two Out of Three Aint Bad - Meatloaf
We Gotta Get Out of This Place - The Angels
Hot Stuff - Donna Summer
Simple the Best - Tina Turner
Crackling Rosie - Neil Diamond
Follow You Follow Me - Phil Collins
Can You Feel It - Michael Jackson
Hey Little Girl - Icehouse
Bow River - Cold Chisel
Heaven Must Be There - Eurogliders
I wanna hold your Hand - the Beatles
Tusk - Fleetwood Mac

I'm not sure what's more disturbing - the fact that I've listed these or that I know most of the words to these songs and the artists' names. Some of these artists I rather like - but I've heard all of these songs ten times over in the last fortnight. And yes, fine for a long drive in the country - but not all day, every day in a working environment.

This particular office environment has redefined purgatory for me.

Wearing earplugs is only an option for part of the day - you have to take them out when people talk to you. Shoving your iPod on with my music works for while, but having things shoved in your ears all day isn't a proper answer to all this. I really think that it's unfair to have to do this on a daily basis.

So my hackles have been rising for the last few days, my energy levels slumping, not helped by the injury (which is healing) meaning exercise has been scarce.

What gets me most is the feeling of isolation. I feel alone at work. I live alone. We have the 'C' thing coming up - which I am yet to have my Christmas freak out - maybe this is part of all this too. Though not a Christian, there is all the rigmarole around this time of year. It's overly busy, you eat and drink too much. In my case I try and focus on the fact that I'm alone and it's the time of year that I feel most alone. The "Oh, what are you and your partner doing?" questions don't sting as much as they did - but it's still not pleasant.

Stupid thing is, I think I have this year planned right. There's only one or two things on. Christmas day will be spent with friends and family (from the part of the family that I like) - it's not a drama. The Christmas parties I do have to go to can be either skipped out on early (the bank one - sod that for a game of soldiers) or really enjoyed (the consultancy one is an overnight affair - take thongs and sit by the pool). Half my shopping is already out the way.

Freaking depression makes me look at the not so good side of things, rather than the stuff I'm looking forward to at this time, like time with friends and a week off. I've got manicures, pedicures, a possible tree walk, a massage or two all planned and paid for - it's great. I'll have my favorite cat staying with me too - something I know I'll love. Christmas will be fine. Just in the state I'm in at the moment you'd think that I was about to join a leper colony.

The incident last Friday with the git from internet dating didn't help matters, if anything, it was a contributing factor to the spiral starting. Once again, dwelling on the twats I seem to attract online hasn't helped matters. Last night I took the decisive action of taking myself off the website. Anybody I attract in this frame of mind isn't going to be good for me. Pressing the delete button felt like a huge weight off my shoulders.

Okay, so now what. What am I going to do about all this? Seeing I'm not clinically depressed and not on medication - and refuse to take that stuff anyway, the plan is in place.

Exercise - now the bum is mending I'm back in the gym grunting out the grumblies. Just back from a session with Pinochet - sweaty hugs aside, bench pressing 30 kilos is good for the morale. He's onto my moods - and for a lunkhead, ketone freak - he gives sound advice. Five times a week - it's what keeps me in check. I've got it planned and it will be fine.

Watch my diet - out with the sugar, in with the fresh natural stuff. Done. At least I'm not out much this week,  that will help.

Get out of the office for lunch - so far I've got three covered next week - Alice, Brenda and Jonella are meeting me. Done. Get's me out of that awful environment, if only for an hour.

No alcohol. Okay, this is a no brainer as it contributes to depression, though in saying this, rocking up to beer club last night for a couple of quiet ones was the best thing I could have done for myself. Just being around fun, intelligent, non-banking company who seem to like it when I turn up there did wonders for the mood. Greeted at the door by an old friend, I got a smile, a hug, a comment that my new glasses look good and was told to sit down while a bottle of Polish beer was arranged for me.

Maybe I should start looking for work back in Telecommunications - it appears to keep me saner than banking - the people, though just as mad, are a bit more down to earth.

And lastly, be good to myself. Accept what is, is. There nowhere I should be but here. There's no fairy godmother who can rustle up a loving husband, an interesting job sans GOLD 104.5 FM and the dullards who work there and a life free of stresses and anxiety.

It will be okay. It's going to be okay. I'm onto it. Some of my friends are aware of what's going on and they're being supportive.

Realising what is going on is the first step to fixing it.

Being good to myself and allowing myself to heal is the second.

Pandora Lent IX

Days without ice cream- 13 (though the temptation to get a magnum on the way home from masons was nearly impossible to overcome)

Voiceless

I ponder what it must be like
To talk to the same person
For one whole week.
To have a real conversation
With the same person
Every day
For a whole week.
To discuss more than work
Or the weather
Or what's on the box
Or the football ladder
With the same person
For one whole week
And to not remember what this is like
Is a concept as alien
As world peace
Something to strive for
Yet so elusive.


(Dream group has set off some pretty black crap - normal programming will resume shortly)

The Slap, The Silence and The Scream

I found myself at lunchtime, bare legged, prostrate, waiting in anticipation for the hot towel that was about to be draped over my legs. I was back at the myotherapist for another session to ensure the kink in my right leg is finally ironed out.

"And how's your day?" asked Liz.
"Hmph."
"That good?"
"Hmph"
"What's up? You're normally chatty." she said  as she moved from gently thumping my legs to my back, pressing in sections up and down my spine. Gentle, reassuring pressure.

I will admit to the following two things. I got into massage therapy some fifteen years ago (and associated modalities like reflexology, aromatherapy and reiki) because it allowed me some touch in my life. I also have a monthly massage to ensure that I get touched at least one a month - safe, gentle, healing touch. I hope this doesn't sound strange. It's not pervy or kinky, but necessary. I attribute my mental and physical health to my monthly relaxation and remedial massage. I do get out of sorts when I don't get a regular massage. It's not an indulgence - it's a necessary part of life. When you don't have a partner, touch is something that sadly lacks.

"So, Missy, what's the matter?" Liz prodded further as my back refused to budge.

"I need to scream, but I can't. My throat is sore."
"Ah."
"My right leg niggling tells me it's family stuff. The small kinks in my left leg say it's emotional stuff. The fact my throat feels like it's embedded with razorblades - I need to scream at something."

I know there's some elements of truth to this.

"Yep, that will do it," replied Liz, moving back down to my right leg to start belting it up.

Thankfully, the massage practice where I get my massages and the folk who work there are pretty tuned into the Body/Mind/Spirit connection. They're also used to me. I go in there occassionally to do a contra reflexology session with the therapists there.

"And when I get like this, when I feel like crap like this, I go quiet."
"And is that a good thing?"
"Probably not."
"Well, tell me, what's up."

Hmm, where do I start.

Things I want to scream at:

Work - I haven't been feeling too valued of late - but intellectually I know it's the climate and lots of change. It shall pass, but it's a bugger to go through.
Lachlan - I give up there. Still no contact. Stuff him
Myself - not being able to run, not being able to focus, letting myself have a too busy a diary, not losing weight... it's a long list.

That's a good start.

Liz got the above, potted version. Details weren't required.

My hackles rose a little further when she said I really shouldn't do the Half Marathon on Sunday. The ten kilometre race she was fine with, but not the half. Pull out of the long race or reinjure myself.

I know she's right. Yesterday I did at solid lap of the Tan with a few of the guys from work. We had a run and my leg came out of it well - but I've still got a few lingering tugs and pulls. Rang the organisers later in the afternoon and now I'm down for a slow ten kilometre run. It's for the best.

She then asked about my book group, from which I've just come back from. We read Christos Tsiolkas' "The Slap" this month. A controversial, polarising book about the fallout after an incident where a man slaps a child that isn't his own.

"Sounds interesting." she said.
"It will generate some great conversation."
"And why is this bothering you?"
"Brings up a lot."

She started what she calls "percussion" on my legs - firm slapping to get the blood running. I began to feel the release.

Six hours later I sat at book group, at our wonderful Irish pub. I sat in the corner, a little removed from the conversation. My throat contained by some butter menthols, a soda, lime and bitters in hand. A great night was had, fantastic book to talk about. Questions of loyalty and loss. Would you slap another person's child? How would you react? Did the author fairly represent Australian society. Were you slapped as a kid?

I once again kept pretty quiet - but as I'm the organiser and occasional referee, I interjected when appropriate.

But my head was full.

Was I bullied like one of the characters at school? Umm, yes. But I let most of it run over my head and they went away. What was going on at home at the time was worse.
Was I slapped as a kid? Yes. Rather frequently at times. I'm a child of the seventies. Who wasn't?
How would I react if I was betrayed like one of the characters in the novel? I would go silent.

Silence is my scream - a scream from within.

I now know that the silence is my time to start working throught the real reasons why I need to scream. It's my first trigger point before depression cycles. Catch it now and it doesn't blow into a deep spiral.

I just wish it was as easy as opening my mouth and letting it out.

Maybe a better start would be to go to the gym and belt up a punching bag.

All I know it that's it's better out than in.

The Other Side of Everything

I am standing in a line, dressed in white; waiting. The room is hot. The scent of incence is soft in my nostrils. I'm underwhelmed by the solemnity which I am supposed to be feeling. Behind me, there is the heavy breathing of a person struggling to walk.  And I realise that if life hadn't turned the way it has, I could well be in the same situation.

Hell Week is nearly at an end, I have made all of my commitments, enjoyed most of them, participated with gusto for the most part and now see that I can rest soon. Well, at least relax in the knowledge I don't need to be anywhere in the evening for a while.

The meltdown of last Friday has also sent ripples into life, providing different perspectives and challenging insights. As much as I hate knowing I suffer from periods of mild depression, I'm almost grateful for the chance it gives me to look at things in my life, and make some changes. Nipping it all in the bud early just means that things get to move a bit quicker. I'm also glad, so glad, I've taken the alternative route for dealing with this. Counsellors, psychologists, dream group all keep things in check. I don't think I'd get anywhere if I was medicated - not that I am critical of anybody who takes this path - I've just fallen into the other side of depression treatment - ant thankfully it works for me.

These insights really started kicking in when I was at my mason's meeting, listining to the person behind me heavy breathing, knowing she was to be barely able to stand for the time required - I started to fret. Was I ever like that? What that what life was going to be like for me in twenty years if I hadn't remedied some of the symptoms and causes? There are a few in the group who are as large, if not larger than I was a few years back. I watch them struggle. I feel their pain - and then count my blessings.

Following the meeting was supper. I try not to stay for supper at these meetings, but there are times when it's unavoidable - like it was on Monday. Supper is lethal. I'm not great around food late at night as I really do have no willpower late in the evening. They put asparagus rolls, the best home made vanilla slice in the world, plates of backlava and curried egg sandwiches in front of me at ten pm - all of my favorite things - and I just hoe in like it's my last meal. Rather than get depressed about what was eaten, I'm learning to just schedule in another run and eat properly for the next week. I no longer get angry with myself when this happens, which now is not that often. Live and deal - it's taken me forty years to get to this. So much better than being angry with myself.

Other insights are flowing - a little harder to fix than getting angry when I overeat late at night. Things I don't know how to fix. Like how to fix being alone? What to do about work? What to do about the fact that friends are morphing and changing?

One thing I do know is that I never make firm decisions when I'm coming out of these cycles. I caught myself thinking, "Gee, why not go internet dating again? What would I put in my profile? "Young 41-year-old, emotionally crippled over acheiver seeks similar"? "Running girl, sick of running away, seeks a stable rock to hide under"? "Nice man wanted for cuddles and more. Players, mummies boys, co-dependents and ferals need not apply"? After a few minutes of pointless pondering, I got rid of this thought very quickly - don't make any rash actions in the time around these cycles. (My forays into internet dating are for another blog - depressive spirals are not the time to hash over the joys of the aforesaid mummies boys, co-dependents, ferals, bogans and the eponymous Boring Richards.)

I just know that things are coming good. The sound sensitivity is fading. I'm smiling more, talking more, getting back into life.

Card of the Blog: The Sun: Freedom, self expression, life force, clarity, optimism.

Like it.

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 143 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 84 km
Currently reading: Celebrity by Andrew O'Hagan, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.6 kg

Hell Week

I'm trying to work out whether to attribute the atrocious mood I'm in to hormones, a strained oblique muscle or the fact that I'm nearly at Hell Week.

So far today I've snapped at Eddie when he gave me my daily stupid question at 9.30 this morning  - "Pandore, what eez zee date today?". My normal answer, "Eddie, look at the bottom right hand corner of your computer screen". I've growled at a number of other daft questions I've had to field, and I know managing stupid questions is my job, but four in a row before ten 'o' clock? Geez.

The last straw was when one of my favourite people came into the office at lunchtime and I had to combat the ferocious urge to snuggle into his nice, large, broad chest and cry. I don't feel like this very often at all - but there are times when I just want a nice, safe, comfortable chest to fall into, feel a pair of strong arms around me, a large, soft hand at the nape of my neck and the express permission to bawl until it's all better. It doesn't happen in my real life very often - once every few years. To save face and keep my dignity, I grabbed my handbag and walked out into the street, sunglasses hiding the tears.

It could be hormones. It does fit the bill. My nickname in the office is Happy Noise. Glen Waverley (my Work Husband as he now wants to be called) and the Grounded Dutchman have often noted when I go quiet, "Oh, it's your girlie time, isn't it - you'll all teary and emotional", just which then makes things worse, but they are normally right.

The strained oblique is just plain frustrating. Seems it got pinged on Tuesday working out with Pinochet - it's a struggle to walk without it catching let alone run at the moment. Plying it with reiki, Deep Heat, Salonpas patches, lavender oil doesn't seem to help. And it's the 14.5 km Run for the Kids this weekend - don't know how I'll go or what I'll do if it's not fixed. This has got me a bit glum.

And on top of this, it's Hell Week.

I call it Hell Week because I'm overcommited to the max. I know I keep myself busy, but this is ridiculous. It sometimes happens that all my commitments fall in the same week - normally it's two or three things on a week, which I cope with. In Hell Week, being my introverted self, the overkill gets to me, and it's just a major form of purgatory.

So, this week, my evenings for the next week look like this:

Saturday - Tarot Reading at a Hen's Party
Sunday - Monthly Kabbalah Class
Monday - Co-Freemasons meeting
Tuessday - Book Group
Wednesday - Dream Group
Thursday - Pinochet Session and possibly a client

I'd make my excuses for the Co-Freemason's meeting, but we're getting a new Grand Poobah so attendance is mandatory (Seriously, you learn everything you need to know about Freemasonry from The Flintstones). The Tarot Reading is a long standing paid gig. It's my book choice at book group this month, so I really should be there - and I love book group. I may cry off Kabbalah - only to feel the wrath at Dream Group on Wednesday. It's all just a bit hard.
Oh, I also have to find the time to train, study, make a batch of biscuits for Monday, see a couple of clients, visit Blarney, clean the flat ... And work. And sleep.

Rational me knows that once Hell Week passes, I have lots of free time on my hands.

Once out of the building at lunch, I took myself off to clear my post office box, walking through Chinatown, letting the sunshine osmose into my body. I made a stop in at the Spellbox in the Royal Arcade, my favorite antidote to work and my calm place on stormy days - carefully avoiding my favorite chocolate shops - Chokolait and Koko Black. Chocolate may make things better temporarily, but a sniff of frankinsense and a look at the pretty tarot cards helps to bring me back to earth. Stood there for a while, spun the wheel at the back of the shop which gave me the following reading:

The Wheel speaks of Choice : An important choice will be yours to make; it's up to you which road you take. The easist way isn't always the best; The decision you make is a life-changing test. From thinking and logic it's time to depart; the way to go now is by way of the heart.

My tarot and Kabbalah training tell me that this is the Path of the Lovers. The path of discrimination. A path leading from your heart to a place where you can find what it is you need. It's a lonely path at the best of times. The Sword of Damocles hangs over your head. There are a few too many of these choices to be made in the near future.

Getting back to work after my roam around town, after a hug from the Amnesty representative in Bourke Street, thanking me for donating regularly, I run into my dear boss, Popeye. And I burst into tears once again.

I haven't told you much about the actual team I work with, but I have to say that I'm one of the luckiest women in the world. My team, all men (okay, overgrown boys) are fabulous. They are considerate, caring and fun. If I don't look well they send me home. They perch themselves on the end of my desk for chats. It's like I've got four adopted brothers. Friday afternoon one of them will send around a funny clip to make the afternoon go faster. It's a genuinely great team.

Popeye, my manager, is also a good friend. The antithesis of me - level headed, rational, calm, logical, I respect the fact that he's also a great people manager. I've rarely fallen into tears around him, but he knows how to deal with it. Today he just said, " Talk." - which I suppose is the work equivalent of the large, strong chest. He knows of my struggles with depression. He also knows I can deal with it.We talked of the difficult climate we have at work, the uncertainty, the aggravation a constantly changing environment has and the fact that people are leaving constantly and those who are staying are dreadfully unhappy. We talked about the fact that I'm Office Mum and this does rub off on me after a while. I told him that things felt they were falling in a heap. I also told him that admitting it was the first step to fixing it.

He told me to take a mental health afternoon - coinciding with the landlord calling to say the plumber was coming around this afternoon to fix the kitchen tap.

So, here I am at home, counting my blessings - for a wonderful understanding boss, great people to work with, the self knowledge that I can pull myself out of this, all the while a waiting for the plumber. I'm still pondering whether the atrocious mood I'm in is because of hormones, a pinged oblique muscle or hell week. Maybe it's all of it combined.

I just know it soon will pass.

Card of the Blog: The Moon - Overwhelming emotion, primal parts of the psyche, cycles and rhythms, working through the depths, seeing things in reflection.

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 132 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 69 km
Currently reading: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.6 kg

Reasons to be Cheerful

Studying on the weekends is the worst. Studying work-related tripe on the weekend is tantamount to purgatory. Somehow, against the odds, I've finished the fifth unit of the Certificate IV in Workplace Training and Assessment. And there was much rejoicing.

The thing that gets me the most is that if Tin Can, String and Whistle Ltd had got their act together I might have been able to do this in a classroom over a week and have the whole thing done and dusted eighteen months ago. But eighteen months ago I had a different boss with a different agenda. Which leaves me hunched over a computer on weekends feeling somewhat resentful.

I can see this week as being a time to play "Reasons to be Cheerful." Not the Ian Dury and the Blockheads version, but my game of remembering to keep up the attitude of gratitude.
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"Reasons to be Cheerful" was developed by a psychologist I saw years ago. I still play it now, it keeps me on the straight and narrow, which, by that I mean it helps to keep me spiralling into depression. It's one of my tactics for keeping myself on the level. And the attitude of gratitude - ah, well that is one of my life's mottos. If you're thankful for what you have, and thankful for what you are receiving, it helps keep the negativity at bay.

Thankfully, I've never been diagnosed with clinical depression, never taken anti-depressants, never had a mental health plan - even though some have said I have needed one in the past. Mild depression is insidious, but I've been lucky to have had some great help over the last ten years. Before meeting Bill, my first psychologist, I thought it was normal to cry yourself to sleep every night. Dream group is my therapy now - and if things get bad I know where to go for help.

Anyway, good food, not too much alcohol, sleep and exercise all keep me sane and content enough. Reason's to be cheerful helps when the twinges of the blues come my way - which will happen to anybody when they've been stuck inside devising training plans for some course you will never present.

So, this week's Reasons to be Cheerful (1,2,3 - done in a Billericay accent)

I'm getting a cat on Wednesday
I'm going overseas later in the year and I'll get to see some of my favorite people
My running is getting better
I have a job that I like working with people that I like
My ankles are thin, my skin supple, my hair sometimes does what it's told
I've upped my calories, making me lose weight and not feel so grumpy
Fresh figs are in season
You can get fresh pineapple in the supermarket
My sheets are pure cotton and high thread count
My friends are lovely and caring and supportive
I get to walk to work every day
It hasn't been a too hot a summer
Healing and tarot clients have been coming thick and fast
I'm writing again - and not documents for a telecommunications company
Nobody I know is sick or dying that I know of

That will do for the moment - I know it seems like an unlikely list, but there is a lot to be cheerful about.

Other things for this week - give Pinochet a stern talking to about his current training methods that are leaving me hobbled after every session - I'm over it. Get the running up and pick up the new ASICS that are sitting at Athlete's Foot in the city. Still can't believe I'm going through a pair of runners every four months.

Card of the Blog: Nine of Cups - Acheiving. Lots of love around you. Contentment. Abundance.

A reason to be cheerful..

For those unaware of the musical stylings of Ian Dury and the Blockheads, please follow this link:

http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD9AFG1GdgI

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 60 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 34 km
Currently reading: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg