Optimism: a.k.a. Depression Lies

So, last week was rough for me. I was feeling mentally exhausted and by Friday was beating up on myself for making a simple and entirely fixable mistake. By Saturday night I was sitting alone in bed — Wifey had fallen asleep on the couch — with that old familiar depressive feeling and wracking my brain to figure out why I was feeling it. This, by the way, is a Sisyphean exercise, as depression needs not have a specific trigger.


Sunday was better and the exhaustion I was feeling all last week did not return on Monday. I’m halfway through the week, now, and am still feeling positive. Things are going well. I’ve been productive. I’m conducting telephone interviews for a position in my department and we had a very good one to start yesterday. We’ve got another this afternoon, and three more on Thursday. I’m optimistic.

I have very good reason to feel good. My job is going well. I’m told that I’ll be passing my next review, so that my probation period will finally be over. I’m making positive lifestyle choices in that I’m working out more and drinking (a little) less. I’ve even participating in an organized sporting event this week; something I’ve not done in years, especially one that involves me being on a team and not just competing for myself. We’re going on a big vacation after the semester is over that will be much needed and are planning smaller trips after it. There is so much to look forward to.

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