If you don’t know who Jenny Lawson is (are you living under a rock? I kid, I kid…) she is also known as The Bloggess. She is an international best-selling author. She just released a new book, that’s hitting the top of the charts. She hob-knobs with the likes of Neil Gaiman. Her schtick is that she writes about her mental and physical ailments, and her daily life, with colorful humor. She’s great at it. She’s gotten rich off of it. She is loved for it.
I sit here and look at my screen and my life. She’s married, with a kid and pets and money, so I guess that helps. It wasn’t always like that for her. She grew up in the middle of East-of-Jesus Texas and was dirt poor.
I can be funny. I am often told that I’m funny when I’m not even meaning to be. (I can’t tell a joke to save my life, nor can I do practical jokes. I’m not that kind of funny.) I can sometimes sling a sentence together. But I can’t even get up the energy or desire to write here on my puny little blog, let alone to write something insightfully pithy. Sigh. Yes, I’m having a pity party over here.
I woke up exhausted even though I slept fine. I’ve had to start taking drugs for anxiety recently. That’s a new one. I just got an email notification about my next oncology appointment, and I’ve been avoiding even thinking about that stuff because of other “more pressing” matters going on in my life. After I woke up, exhausted, I ran some errands in the rain, and all I could think about is “I have no joy in my life. None. There’s none anywhere in sight.” I guess maybe that is why I can’t write the gently uplifting things Jenny can.
I bought a plant for my depressing apartment. I have a brown thumb. Say a little prayer for my little plant, it can use the encouragement. Poor little thing. Maybe a little bit of green in my environment can make me feel a little better— that’s a pretty high expectation to stick on an innocent little ivy. (I think that’s what it is… it has green and yellow leaves and right now the yellow is supposed to be there and not a symptom of me killing it.)
20 minutes later: Ah, I just looked it up, it is a pothos (theoretically hard to kill) or devil’s ivy. My little guy is smaller than this.