Comments on: The Un-Handy Man http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man Comeday morm and, O, you're vine! Sendday's eve and, ah, you're vinegar! Fri, 09 Jan 2009 22:09:58 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.7 hourly 1 By: greypilgrim http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man/comment-page-1#comment-41537 greypilgrim Tue, 27 Feb 2007 19:52:34 +0000 http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man#comment-41537 It is a very strong urge. Sometimes I think that allowing my pain to manifest itself in a physical way might be better than simply suppressing and struggling with it internally. If destroying my books provides a release of some kind, however regrettable, maybe it would be worth it. At one time, I could have no more thought of destroying a book than I could of cutting off my own hand. To return to the original subject at hand, the painters are doing a tremendous job on the house. It is well worth paying them to do the job correctly. And speaking of irresistible urges, I do find myself curiously drawn to the color of "Mark Twain House Oak." Maybe it would be right for my office. My office furniture is solid oak, after all. It is a very strong urge. Sometimes I think that allowing my pain to manifest itself in a physical way might be better than simply suppressing and struggling with it internally. If destroying my books provides a release of some kind, however regrettable, maybe it would be worth it. At one time, I could have no more thought of destroying a book than I could of cutting off my own hand.

To return to the original subject at hand, the painters are doing a tremendous job on the house. It is well worth paying them to do the job correctly. And speaking of irresistible urges, I do find myself curiously drawn to the color of “Mark Twain House Oak.” Maybe it would be right for my office. My office furniture is solid oak, after all.

]]> By: Heather http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man/comment-page-1#comment-41527 Heather Tue, 27 Feb 2007 18:32:51 +0000 http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man#comment-41527 That self-destructive urge is a strong one, isn't it? That self-destructive urge is a strong one, isn’t it?

]]> By: greypilgrim http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man/comment-page-1#comment-41490 greypilgrim Tue, 27 Feb 2007 12:15:55 +0000 http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man#comment-41490 I do appreciate the apparent faith others have in me. I just have none of it for myself. I've read that a sign of depression is no longer enjoying those things one once enjoyed, so maybe the not writing, the not reading, and the depression are all tied up together in one dark knot. I know I've felt quite sick for some time, now; and the old cures do not work anymore. I derive no pleasure from reading or writing, or much of anything. Even attempting to read only prompts me to think about what an ignorant blockhead I've become, having fallen so far from the sharp-witted Graduate Student I once was. I have shelves upon shelves of books in my home and office, most of which I read at one time, long ago, and now I look at them and have no desire to even crack open a single one. There is no pleasure in them. Nor will they help me figure out what is wrong with me. Every weekend, I go through this internal debate about whether to just be rid of the rotten things. Box up the lot of them and take them to Good Will, or better, just destroy them. Trash them in a dumpster behind the McDonalds. Ultimately, that would be a self-destructive gesture, rather than a house-cleaning attempt. But the temptation to do it is always there. I like to think of such destruction the way, maybe, a person who obsessively cuts themself thinks of the razor blade. Maybe there would be relief in destroying a significant portion of the person I once was. I do appreciate the apparent faith others have in me. I just have none of it for myself. I’ve read that a sign of depression is no longer enjoying those things one once enjoyed, so maybe the not writing, the not reading, and the depression are all tied up together in one dark knot.

I know I’ve felt quite sick for some time, now; and the old cures do not work anymore. I derive no pleasure from reading or writing, or much of anything. Even attempting to read only prompts me to think about what an ignorant blockhead I’ve become, having fallen so far from the sharp-witted Graduate Student I once was. I have shelves upon shelves of books in my home and office, most of which I read at one time, long ago, and now I look at them and have no desire to even crack open a single one. There is no pleasure in them. Nor will they help me figure out what is wrong with me.

Every weekend, I go through this internal debate about whether to just be rid of the rotten things. Box up the lot of them and take them to Good Will, or better, just destroy them. Trash them in a dumpster behind the McDonalds. Ultimately, that would be a self-destructive gesture, rather than a house-cleaning attempt. But the temptation to do it is always there. I like to think of such destruction the way, maybe, a person who obsessively cuts themself thinks of the razor blade. Maybe there would be relief in destroying a significant portion of the person I once was.

]]> By: Mel B http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man/comment-page-1#comment-41465 Mel B Tue, 27 Feb 2007 07:11:58 +0000 http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man#comment-41465 You're making me depressed, now. I suppose the fact that many of your faithful readers consider you to be a good writer and contributer to the brood doesn't cheer you up? Bah! At least you don't have to paint. But you do suffer a lot of guilt. What you need is a good trip out west to make you feel better. Seek solace in the mountains. You need to gain more life experience and travel and renew your interest in life and writing. And what better way to do that than through a trip to one of the most majestic national parks: Yosemite? You’re making me depressed, now.
I suppose the fact that many of your faithful readers consider you to be a good writer and contributer to the brood doesn’t cheer you up?
Bah!
At least you don’t have to paint.
But you do suffer a lot of guilt.
What you need is a good trip out west to make you feel better.
Seek solace in the mountains.
You need to gain more life experience and travel and renew your interest in life and writing. And what better way to do that than through a trip to one of the most majestic national parks: Yosemite?

]]> By: greypilgrim http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man/comment-page-1#comment-41416 greypilgrim Mon, 26 Feb 2007 23:41:40 +0000 http://sodsbrood.com/pilgrim/2007/02/25/the-un-handy-man#comment-41416 Thank you all for the kind comments. It's been pretty clear to me for awhile that I need to see a doctor for depression. My wife, who is sick of me, is actually trying to find a doctor for me. I've made a few half-hearted attempts to find someone for myself, but have never followed through. If I end up seeing someone, past experience with psychologists makes me doubtful it will do any good. My feeling is that there are some aspects of life one must simply endure, happily or not. For thousands of years people probably lived unhappy lives without ever treating it as a medical illness. The question is how to adapt to a life like that. I hesitate to even mention it, because of my track record of making appointments and then blowing them off. If my wife finds someone who will see me, I may blow that appointment off as well. But maybe I shouldn't feel like my life is done at age 33, either. I feel old. Finished. It's not right to feel that way. There has to be an answer for why I feel as if I've hit the dead end of the road. I used to think the answers to my questions about myself lay in books. One of the reasons I read was to know myself. I remember how I'd pick up a book and wonder what kind of relation to my own life I'd make from it. I don't expect that from books anymore. I don't read anymore, and that's one of the things that saddens me. I can't find any answers, any release from self-torment, anywhere. Thank you all for the kind comments. It’s been pretty clear to me for awhile that I need to see a doctor for depression. My wife, who is sick of me, is actually trying to find a doctor for me. I’ve made a few half-hearted attempts to find someone for myself, but have never followed through.

If I end up seeing someone, past experience with psychologists makes me doubtful it will do any good. My feeling is that there are some aspects of life one must simply endure, happily or not. For thousands of years people probably lived unhappy lives without ever treating it as a medical illness. The question is how to adapt to a life like that.

I hesitate to even mention it, because of my track record of making appointments and then blowing them off. If my wife finds someone who will see me, I may blow that appointment off as well.

But maybe I shouldn’t feel like my life is done at age 33, either. I feel old. Finished. It’s not right to feel that way. There has to be an answer for why I feel as if I’ve hit the dead end of the road.

I used to think the answers to my questions about myself lay in books. One of the reasons I read was to know myself. I remember how I’d pick up a book and wonder what kind of relation to my own life I’d make from it.

I don’t expect that from books anymore. I don’t read anymore, and that’s one of the things that saddens me. I can’t find any answers, any release from self-torment, anywhere.

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