Spargel Saison and random unrelated shit
May. 28th, 2011 05:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wiseheartToday was the second time that we had spargel (=asparagus) this year. Garlic chicken with spargel and sweetcorn, to be more accurate. God, I love spargel. It's the only thing that makes spring depressions better. Well, that and fresh strawberries, of course. Not the ones imported from some southern country - they all taste like water. The local ones, ripened under real sunlight. Mmmm.... You can't live on chocolate alone, after all!
You see, the really shitty thing about depressions is that you're sealed into yourself and can't get out. You know perfectly well what's happening to you, but you can't really help it. The only thing that works is to simply sit out until they're gone.
Once upon a time, writing used to help. It saved my sanity over at least three decades. But then I made the mistake to publish my stuff, and since then, writing has become a brand new source of frustration. And it doesn't matter that I know being unappreciated is something I can't influence... it still hurts like a bitch. Sometimes I wish I had kept writing for the desk drawer - but it's too late to go back there now. Most likely not even possible.
Ever wondered what makes a friend a real friend? Even if it's only this weird online friendship? Are people who're willing to help you with certain things beyond your powers friends or just benefactors? Especially when they don't give a shit about other aspects of your life? How long can you go on with being grateful for whatever you're given? How long can you live with not really belonging anywhere? How long can you carry on with your broken dreams until they break you for good?
Sometimes I wish I could stop caring. But unfortunately, I'm not wired that way.
Welcome to the Grey Lands, people.
On a more positive note, we had some old apples left, so I made apple tart today. Mum was very pleased. Eating warm apple tart at ten o'clock in the evening is a noble thing; not to mention very comforting.
You see, the really shitty thing about depressions is that you're sealed into yourself and can't get out. You know perfectly well what's happening to you, but you can't really help it. The only thing that works is to simply sit out until they're gone.
Once upon a time, writing used to help. It saved my sanity over at least three decades. But then I made the mistake to publish my stuff, and since then, writing has become a brand new source of frustration. And it doesn't matter that I know being unappreciated is something I can't influence... it still hurts like a bitch. Sometimes I wish I had kept writing for the desk drawer - but it's too late to go back there now. Most likely not even possible.
Ever wondered what makes a friend a real friend? Even if it's only this weird online friendship? Are people who're willing to help you with certain things beyond your powers friends or just benefactors? Especially when they don't give a shit about other aspects of your life? How long can you go on with being grateful for whatever you're given? How long can you live with not really belonging anywhere? How long can you carry on with your broken dreams until they break you for good?
Sometimes I wish I could stop caring. But unfortunately, I'm not wired that way.
Welcome to the Grey Lands, people.
On a more positive note, we had some old apples left, so I made apple tart today. Mum was very pleased. Eating warm apple tart at ten o'clock in the evening is a noble thing; not to mention very comforting.
