Pan of brownies keeps woman sane.

this week was another "week from somewhere hot, humid and governed by Satan." it seems like i have been having a series of those, lately, compounded by the fact that weekends have been so very nice. relaxing, filled with fun--until sunday afternoon, when i realize that i have to start everything all over again.

i feel a bit like cinderella, minus the fireplace ashes. on the weekends my pumpkin transforms into something grand and lovely, but i know that at the stroke of midnight or thereabouts, it's going to turn into a pumpkin again.

which has brought on a fit of depression, one which has been stayed only by the hand of Wellbutrin and Lexapro.

in the resulting ennui, i'm creeping up on "that time of the month." usually it's manageable these days, what with the different meds, but this time i feel as if i spun too many times around, and am lost. on thursday night i came home, feeling a need to sob wildly, and watched two hours of law and order.

two hours.

then i watched "the joy luck club," which is a guaranteed tear-jerker for me at any time of the year.

when i got home, however, the first thing i did was bake a pan of brownies. i don't pretend to understand the general link between women and chocolate, or the more personal link between me and cocoa powder. all i knew was that i needed to bake that pan of brownies, and bake i did.

so in the end it was therapy of a type i'm not sure is sanctioned by psychiatrists nationwide, but one which worked for me at that point in time: a potent combination of steaming chocolate pastry and dramatic, poignant, movie. it helped that the movie has the most haunting and evocative music. by the end of the evening i was drained, happily sated on chocolate and cried out, and feeling as if i really, really wanted my mommy.

who is working all day today at a food festival. so driving there would not have helped much, i'm guessing.

also not helping would be the fact that since we've put off laundry for-ev-er i'd have to drive and visit in the nude. not an option.

it's strange to consider the way life works. sorrow and happiness, balanced without my noticing, often times. even when there is a dearth of sorrow--or at least when that is my perception--i can laugh. it's my terror to wake one morning and feel nothing again. i'd rather be in pain, carrying the weight of fear and sadness on my shoulders, than feel that horrid numb feeling i've felt before. gray and silent, it creeps up on me, envelops me. for a while it's comfort: soundless, motionless, nothingness. cool and quiet.

and then after a while you realize that the lack of everything--the lack of feeling--is invasive. it overtakes your life, poisoning your relationships and your creativity. the comfort of being that way--numb, i think of it--is that outweighed by the overdose of emotion?

for a long time i thought that taking my meds was helping--and often i will say that it does. without my blood pressure and birth control meds, i'd be a wreck. without my wellbutrin i'd never get my bills paid. and without lexapro, right now i'd be curled in a ball somewhere upstairs in a dark corner, terrified to face even the rising sun.

but equally important is the self-medication of feeding my soul what it requires.

on thursday it required tears and brownies; and that means that on saturday morning, i feel more in balance once again.