That’s the only word I have to describe the feeling that completely overwhelmed me yesterday during my afternoon commute. It came out of nowhere, and by the time I got home I was almost in tears.
I can’t even use the word unhappy to describe it. To me unhappy denotes dissatisfaction. You wanted A but ended up with B. No, this was something different. There’s a history of depression in my family, so I’m hoping this (thankfully transitory) episode was just a fluke and doesn’t mark the beginning of something more severe.
Frankly, I think my malaise sprang from a combination of many things that simply refused to be ignored any longer: the escalating political stupidity in this country and the ever more outrageous, batshit-crazy shrieking from the right; witnessing the insane police brutality unleashed on the ostensibly peaceful Occupy Wall Street protesters, and the fact that like those out there protesting, I’m literally back to living paycheck to paycheck (and sometimes not even that), earning what I did six years ago. Don’t get me wrong―I’m thankful to have a job, and at a place I genuinely like on top of it, but at this point I have no health insurance, and no possibility of seeing a doctor for even a routine checkup―much less anything more―until (assuming I do get hired on as a permanent employee at the company I’m contracting with) after the first of the year. Never mind that I’m now officially overdue for my yearly post-cancer throat exam and that I’m wearing contact lenses that should’ve been replaced a very long time ago. The car needs the front bushings and a leaking power steering hose replaced (thankfully both covered by my mechanical breakdown insurance, but each requiring a separate $250 deductible), and I still owe a dear friend $200 from some money she lent me last summer. Don’t even get me started on the two medications I’m taking―neither of which have generic equivalents―that cost $50 each for a 30-day supply…
Yeah, I think I have a right to be a little sad.
If that weren’t enough, I’m still not feelin’ it as far as Denver is concerned. That doesn’t worry me that much, because as I remember I went through something similar when I first moved to San Francisco, and it took me well over a year before I started to think of it as home, but it’s still there, tap-tap-tapping at my subconscious.
The same goes for our apartment. It’s very nice (even with its strange design quirks), but as I explained to Ben the other day, it still just feels like someplace we’re staying; it’s not yet home. I guess that comes from the fact that I was in my last place three years, and the place before that, a little over seven, and I’m used to being settled.
I also miss my family back in Phoenix.
All I can say is it’s very different to uproot yourself and start a new life when you’re 50 versus when you’re 25. Very different. At least I take solace in knowing that both my mom and dad did just that when they were even older than I am now, so I know it’s not impossible.
Oh, and one more thing: Last night, after trying iCloud and deciding it was a waste of time and effort for anything other than Find My Mac and Find My iPhone, I disconnected and the lost all my calendars. For some fucking reason, when you decide to disconnect from the cloud using your Mac, you’re offered the choice of staying connected or losing all the calendar data synced to your Mac. Seriously. (“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”) Thankfully, after quite a bit of swearing and being unable to restore them from Time Machine, I was able to manually sync my calendars back from my iPhone. I sometimes think there are Apple designers who have a severe case of Microsoft envy.