I feel frayed and twitchy lately. I didn't want to admit it (I would rather it be job stress or sleep issues, because I can fix those) but I seem to be teetering on the edge of a pretty steep funk. In the interest of being honest with myself, and because it's less likely to catch me off-guard next time if I note these things as they happen, I figured I should write that down somewhere, and this being my journal, it seemed as good a place as any.
So how does one know when a mokie is down?
#1. Lists. Lots of lists. Lists of lists, even. It's not so much the usual attempt to organize and corral the chaos of life as it is mental pacing at the bars of a jail cell.
#2. Obsessive media indulgence and investment. The best example is the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Long before the first film was finished and released, I kept up with the website and making-of information and photos and preview clips, not because I was a hardcore Tolkien or fantasy fan but because it offered a rich and deeply textured reality that wasn't this one. It stopped being escapism and became a weird bargaining chip when the depression got nasty (can't kill myself halfway through a trilogy now, right?), which is how I finally recognized what I was doing.
Don't misunderstand me: loving a movie isn't odd for me, but that kind of obsessive investment in the details is. I adore Dark City, but I didn't go superfan on it; Let the Right One In is one of my favorite vampire films ever, but I still can't be bothered to read the novel.
But ask me how many interviews and blog posts I've read about Hannibal, or how many goofy screen caps and fan drawings I've shared with my sister. See: rich and deeply textured reality that isn't this one.
#3. Careful management of human contact. More so than usual, anyway. For example, a week or three ago, fed up after some updating frustration, I uninstalled my IM program. It didn't seem a big deal: I don't know many people who IM anymore, those who do also know me through Facebook or Twitter, and I'd get around to reinstalling when I wasn't so flustered by it. It wasn't like I was cutting myself off from anybody. Except that's exactly what it was like. It was an open window through which I was vulnerable to contact, and that's where the frustration was really coming from.
Across the table is conspicuous communication: lately I have intentionally hung out, put in an appearance, gone all chatty and generally been far friendlier than I am when I'm not nearing a funk. I'm not sure if I'm compensating for any possible extra moodiness from the funk, or if I'm establishing an alibi and putting on a show of being just-fine-thanks. If nothing else, at least it keeps me from wearing tissue box shoes and collecting my own urine.
#4. Added sensitivity to light, sound, touch, interruption... I am so easily derailed by sound right now that my usual background noise to block out derailing sounds is too much sound. My ability to focus is shot all to hell.
#5. Absolute investment in pleasure. I guess this would be creating a rich and deeply textured alternate reality of my own? I'm not sure. The blue hair, the Katwise coat that hits all my squee spots, the photos and art supplies and fountain pens and sad hobbits and stupid things people share on Tumblr--they're like little happy-making talismans against the funk, and I wonder if I'm enjoying them harder than I normally would because enjoying things is itself harder right now.
So how does one know when a mokie is down?
#1. Lists. Lots of lists. Lists of lists, even. It's not so much the usual attempt to organize and corral the chaos of life as it is mental pacing at the bars of a jail cell.
#2. Obsessive media indulgence and investment. The best example is the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Long before the first film was finished and released, I kept up with the website and making-of information and photos and preview clips, not because I was a hardcore Tolkien or fantasy fan but because it offered a rich and deeply textured reality that wasn't this one. It stopped being escapism and became a weird bargaining chip when the depression got nasty (can't kill myself halfway through a trilogy now, right?), which is how I finally recognized what I was doing.
Don't misunderstand me: loving a movie isn't odd for me, but that kind of obsessive investment in the details is. I adore Dark City, but I didn't go superfan on it; Let the Right One In is one of my favorite vampire films ever, but I still can't be bothered to read the novel.
But ask me how many interviews and blog posts I've read about Hannibal, or how many goofy screen caps and fan drawings I've shared with my sister. See: rich and deeply textured reality that isn't this one.
#3. Careful management of human contact. More so than usual, anyway. For example, a week or three ago, fed up after some updating frustration, I uninstalled my IM program. It didn't seem a big deal: I don't know many people who IM anymore, those who do also know me through Facebook or Twitter, and I'd get around to reinstalling when I wasn't so flustered by it. It wasn't like I was cutting myself off from anybody. Except that's exactly what it was like. It was an open window through which I was vulnerable to contact, and that's where the frustration was really coming from.
Across the table is conspicuous communication: lately I have intentionally hung out, put in an appearance, gone all chatty and generally been far friendlier than I am when I'm not nearing a funk. I'm not sure if I'm compensating for any possible extra moodiness from the funk, or if I'm establishing an alibi and putting on a show of being just-fine-thanks. If nothing else, at least it keeps me from wearing tissue box shoes and collecting my own urine.
#4. Added sensitivity to light, sound, touch, interruption... I am so easily derailed by sound right now that my usual background noise to block out derailing sounds is too much sound. My ability to focus is shot all to hell.
#5. Absolute investment in pleasure. I guess this would be creating a rich and deeply textured alternate reality of my own? I'm not sure. The blue hair, the Katwise coat that hits all my squee spots, the photos and art supplies and fountain pens and sad hobbits and stupid things people share on Tumblr--they're like little happy-making talismans against the funk, and I wonder if I'm enjoying them harder than I normally would because enjoying things is itself harder right now.