What's up, Everybody?
Shit-Host and Head Which-Wayer of the Bonus Hours, Chris, and I've been a little down lately.
Nothing serious, just a few Blue weeks of numbness and waking up on the couch not remembering I fell asleep. Blues are easy to deal with; much more simple than blacks. Black days are when I collapse in on myself like a dying star wanting desperately to crumble inward to the void, but finding myself still in bed and consious as i slowly fall apart.
I can work through Blue.
I can't cope in Black
Working a normal job always seemed to exacerbate the issue. Forcing myself into a car for 10 hours or shoveling trash and scraping plates in the back of a bar on a Blue Monday was a way to be certain I'd end in snot bubble popping and snorting tears over literal spilled milk type of deep Black Saturday; then i can't get out of bed on Sunday, which gets you fired after a while, and is no way to get a headstart on finding a new job.
There was this one 2 month period in the darkest end of a 2 year long depressive phase in which the only thing in my life that made sense or helped me see any light in the world was playing Donkey Kong Country 2, over and over again.|
Only the Bramble Blast level.
For days on weeks.
the ability to zone myself into the patterns of jumps and shots across the screen to the repetitive rhythms of that Stickerbush Symphony. Dying replaying and dying again was a simple feedback loop that allowed my brain to move about freely while my weakened mind took a much need isolated rest.
And I overstuffed myself. Diving into the pool of sinful comfort food. A gluttonous rapture of nostalgic escapism. I wrapped myself in the warm blanket like so much armor and waited for death to rot me from inside.
I haven't gone that deep into the hole since then.
Granted, i went to hospital not long after those months melted into spring. It's been a few years, and being able to work creatively seems to be able to help. Having the ability to take my foot off the gas when necessary; to slow down and lose myself in a moldy bathrobe for a few days is integral to my self care.
Still reaching my goals for the week, indulging more carelessly in the my little rewards.
Like the somber track says, in its long lucid hums of 16 bit warmth:
This road reaches the furthest horizon, every inch is a thorn. Find your way to ride in between. There, you will find inner serenity.
And i Know i shouldn't be hiding in these barrels, and that somewhere down the line taking days of solace caressing my youth trigger, until i don't know how old I am anymore, will wind out just as unhealthy as working myself into a crying puddle, but I've never felt like i was crawling back into the womb of 1995 when i seek shelter here.
My childhood was unremarkable enough that I hardly remember it. I come back to this dusty old system in my grimiest hours, because it makes sense when nothing else does.
Move RIght. Jump. Avoid Obstacle. Risk for Treasure. Follow the Bananas. Reach the Goal.
Be a Happy Monkey.
The rules are clear and the objective is simple.
So that, when every ounce of my being is overwhelmed with doing, i can shut myself off, and know exactly where I need to go.