I’d throw a pity party, but I don’t have a thing to wear

To me this a cheery picture, because the wheelchair is empty...

I’ve managed to fall down the rabbit hole of depression the last few days.  But I must be crawling out of it, because I’m now wondering how the rabbit hole became defined as a place you fall down, because really, those must be some large rabbits.  Yes, yes, Alice in Wonderland, followed by song writers adding a lyrical backdrop to tripping and drugging and drinking.  And yes, that did sound much more intelligent in my head.

What if Lewis Carol has used a gopher? Would we all be falling down metaphorical gopher holes? Or would that just be silly?

But anyway, people often say to me “I’d go crazy if I was in a wheelchair for so long” like I have some amazing special talent to not go over the edge with two broken feet and months of sitting on my ass.  Because that would be something for the resume – able to deal with mind numbing boredom and feelings of claustrophobia with grace and humor.  And excellent addition to your staff.

What I do have in a huge collection of gossip about strangers, which I can spin into entertaining stories that leave people thinking, Wow, that Wooden Monkey sure is funny.  Tricking them into not noticing that I’m biter and stabby and bored out of my mind.

Unfortunately that ability to look like I’m doing okay hasn’t managed to trick me into believing it.  And in fact this weekend I lost all belief, even in the whole “Bones heal.  I’ll be able to walk again.”  And when people asked me when I was getting out of the chair, I replied “Never.”

And was told that I wasn’t going to heal with that attitude.  Because as we all know, bones are healed with sunshine and happy thoughts.  Oh, wait, they aren’t.  Because if they were I’d have been walking months ago.

My friend Liz and I had an online discussion about how depressing and irritating the world has seemed, and she  described herself as melancholy…like a walking Edward Gorey book.

And then I got all excited, imagining both of us wandering around in  black and white, wearing cool Victorian clothing while wandering the moor. Or a graveyard. And, maybe a little stabby action going on. But not stabbing each other, because then who would we have to admire how fashionable we were in our melancholy.  Because these things are important.

So now i have to post pone my permanent descent down the rabbit hole of despair until I can find the proper wardrobe.  Which might be a bit tricky, as in addition to my lack of mobility, the California weather isn’t cooperating with my need for black tights and flowing capes, and is withholding windy dreary weather and instead providing a sunny warm day with birds singing and flowers blooming and quite frankly it is really messing with the ambiance of my pity party.


About woodenmonkey

Just your average solar powered, hybrid driving, organic eating, happily married, pro-choice, feminist Christian artist and writer from San Francisco.

Posted on October 17, 2011, in Retro post (which is another way of saying I forgot to post it when I wrote it). Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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