Beyond The Mean Reds and Past The Crabby Pinks

No matter what I do or what I say, my life seems to be punctuated by lines from a movie or lyrics from a song or some show tune. For example, when I looked at the calendar this morning, I saw it was precisely four weeks ago that I admitted to myself I suffered from depression, had suicidal thoughts and finally started seeking help.

I wanted to break into song, “What a difference a day makes!” Except that it wasn’t a single day that had passed, even though it felt like it what with everything going on in my life. Once again, like the Magician from Frosty the Snowman, I’ve been “Busy, busy, busy!”

I’ve been re-sizing and re-cropping the hell out of penis photos for the people I freelance for; 9 DVDs down, 7 more to go. And that’s just for one website they’re launching!

My next session is this coming Monday and, hopefully, I’ll continue to retrain my mind with cognitive therapy. The first session alone was worth going to because the therapist made me stop and take a look at how negative I am with myself. Everyone else is wonderful; I’m the one that’s fucked up. Yeah, I know. Very skewed, which is what the therapist wanted me to realize.

Between that first session, gorse -- the homeopathic remedy I’ve been taking -- and the upswing of work have all helped tremendously. As has everyone I chat with on Facebook and the people reading this bizarre blog, which was supposed to be for promotional purposes originally. Like everything in life, it’s morphed into a combination of things.

Something else that’s worked in allowing me to feel better is the fact that my hours at the Box Office have gone down now that summer is here. Very little happens in the theatre in South Florida during summer. Then again, very little happens down here in the summer, period.

Except for me. Funny what one shift in perspective will do.

Now, however, it would appear something else has shifted in my mind. Unlike in the past -- when I’d question why something good was happening to me -- I’m just going along with it. You see, I’m one of those that, for some unknown reason, must self-analyze and examine every event in his life; at times, to my own detriment.

I can’t exactly see what’s shifted yet but perhaps it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing again. Perhaps not the deep, emotional thing that “Learning To Samba” was for me, but it’s writing all the same. As is journaling and blogging. And that’s good for my soul; even if it is something smutty with little to no plot. Then again, who’s to say that what I needed wasn’t something light, fluffy, and with no conflict or complex emotional story line? Perhaps all I needed was to string together a bunch of hot, steamy sex scenes?

In a way, I feel like the actor who’s nominated for an Oscar because of a deeply moving role, only to take the first dumb part that comes along after just for fun.

Hmmm. Just for fun. I think I might have just hit on something. This time, surprisingly, I have no quote or lyric and it feels…okay to just let it be. Oops! Nope. Guess not. There it is.