Deprifun

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I used to have this great fear. Because I saw it coming, and I saw that nothing I tried was working. I thought that if that one thing happened I would die.

Then it happened.

And I died.

And I must say, death is better than a miserable life. You don’t care much about things. You don’t need food anymore. You don’t need to worry about building for your future life, since there is no future life. The one thing you really feared losing is already lost, and that makes you effectively invulnerable.

So all in all this is a positive development, and I’m making the necessary adjustments.

This is the first time I die, so I am not sure how the whole thing is supposed to work. There’s precious little documentation on the subject, and what there is mostly belongs to the realm of fiction and there’s no first hand accounts. So I am quite on my own here, but wasn’t I before, too?

I haven’t started decomposing yet, and quite frankly, I hope I never do. That would be so inconvenient! Imagine you shake hands with someone and they rip your hand off? So embarrassing!

Luckily, the way things look like right now makes me think I might be slowly turning into either a mummy or a ghost. If it is a mummy, I should start hoarding wrappings, but I’m not sure about the colour. I think off white is so wrong, I am pale enough as it is and I would really like a pop of colour. I quite like the pantone colour of the year, emerald, but I wonder if it will get old after a few hundred years. I don’t think I can unwrap and rewrap myself without breaking off fingers and toes and stuff; I guess I could layer new bandages on top of the old ones, but that would make me look like the Michelin Man, so I should probably set on a colour and keep to it for all eternity. Once decided on the colour, I will have to get white wrappings and colour them myself in the washing machine – can you believe it, you can’t buy colourful mummy wrappings anywhere! Not even on Etsy! I will have to do it over and over again, since according to my research I need 372 square meters of linen. That’s A LOT! And I don’t have so much place to hang it and dry it. So, lots of work, but it’s not like there’s much hurry.

Also, every self-respecting mummy needs a curse. I am quite stumped on this, too. Perhaps I should take my inspiration from actual ones, combining two of them together, like All people who enter this tomb may the hippopotamus be against them in water, and Death shall come on swift wings to him who disturbs the peace of the King. My own curse could be something along the lines of To ye who disturb my rest the hippopotamus shall come on swift wings. Yes, I think this has potential.

There’s also the matter of my future abode. I am NOT going to live in a tomb. Perhaps a museum? I could offer myself to the British Museum and get to know Ginger. He’s the earliest Egyptian mummy, and they used to call him that because of his hair. Later though they realised that it wasn’t nice of them and they changed the name to something more respectful: 32751. Hm.

The idea of living in a museum has its romantic allure. I could terrorize small children during the day, and wander about at night. Better than ending up as fuel for locomotives, at any rate.

And yet, I’m a bit of a sissy as for surgical procedures, and I am not looking forward to the whole pulling my brain out through my nostrils thing, so I really hope I rather go the ghost way. Ghosts are so glamorous! I can haunt some old building and live like a princess. I will have all the advantages of being invisible, with additional perks: I could make myself visible if I chose to, for additional scaring opportunities and to look as stunning as the Grey Lady in Harry Potter, I won’t need to worry about food and comfort, and I will be able to fly and walk through walls and everything. So finger crossed on this one! By the way –  *checks fingers* – Good, all fingers still accounted for.

Well! Time will tell I guess. I will keep you posted, and in the meantime, greetings from the Afterlife!

https://deprifun.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/liebster2.png

I have won an award! A Liebster Award! I was nominated by Supremely Funny Extraordinaire Barb Taub, so check out her blog!

This is my acceptance speech. Please picture me wearing an elegant updo with loose curls escaping here and there (but doing so in the most elegant way), a midnight blue lace dress with a long, full skirt, and tripping on it only three times on my way to the microphone, and only once swearing audibly.

First of all, the rules:

“The award is given to up and coming blogs with less than 200 followers; the person nominated needs to answer eleven questions and nominate eleven other bloggers, ask them eleven questions in turn and then comment on their blogs to let them know they’ve been nominated.”

And the nominees are…..

So these are my nominees. I am not sure how many followers they have, and some might already be quite successful, but awards, like compliments, are always nice, right?

Dear Nominees: I realise that accepting a Liebster Award is quite a lot of work. Plus it sort of messes up with posting schedules and blog consistency overall; personally I was happy to receive one, but rest assured: I won’t be deeply offended if you choose not to accept it 😉

1. Bullo!

2. Understanding Japanese

3. My 30 Day Challenge

4.Organized Musings of a Chaotic Mind

5. There’s no Place Like Home

6. Lost Gyrl Found

7. I Don’t Get It

8. Little Lobo

9. The Jiggly Bits

10. Jane Dougherty Writes

11. The War in My Brain


The eleven questions I have to answer:

(I am not ready! I should have studied instead of staying up all night watching anime. I swear if this goes well anyway next time I will study! On the other hand, that would kind of prove that you can just watch anime and then blunder through)

1. What was your first car?

I never had a car and I’m never going to have one! I’m totally against cars. I have my faithful bike though, and my first bicycle was a green folding one. I said “folding” and not “foldable” because it would in fact fold by its own initiative whenever it suited her, be it in the middle of a ride.

2. What was your last brush with the Law?

Jude? I guess it was when he came to shoot something in the city I live in, a few months ago. But I didn’t actually meet him, and even if I had, I think brushes would have been the last thing on my mind.

3.Star Wars or Star Trek?

Star Wars, if only for the music.

4.Dr. Who or Dr. Laura?

Who??

5.Worst movie ever?

Whatever my brother in his extreme arthouse movie phase force-fed me.

6.Who would you like to have a conversation with at a cocktail party?

A true friend – or a unicorn, whoever turns up first.

7. Best guilty pleasure ever?

Bread with butter and sugar

8. Who would play you in the movie?

Uggie from The Artist

9.What is something people don’t know about you?

It’s a secret, duh. Oh, whatever, I am going to tell you my darkest secret. Ha! Just joking.

10. What is the one thing you can’t live without?

A heart. Although lungs are pretty handy, too.

11. As a child (or now!), what did you want to be when you grew up?

I had nothing definite in mind. I selected my dream job later, upon entering university, and I was so lucky to actually land it.

And here the eleven questions I am asking:

1. Do you suffer from depression, or do you know someone who does?

2. My blog is about facing depression with humour. Do you think it is tasteless to make fun of depression?

3. Talking about tasteless, do you think depression tastes like chicken?

4. If yes, like nuggets or like roast chicken? And if no, what does it taste like, then?

5. Do you feel for the plight of Depressed Chickens?

6. Would you be prepared to wear a yolk-coloured ribbon for Chickens Depression Awareness?

7. What do you think Question Number 7 should be?

8. Do the people in your Real Life know about your blog?

9. Why did you choose to tell them, or not to?

10. Do you think there are too many bloggers to nominate, and too many questions to answer and to ask, in order to get a Liebster Award? Fun fact: the original version of the Award only had you nominate 3-5 bloggers.

11.How would you answer Question Number 7 if you were a depressed pink unicorn with glitter on its hooves?

* * *
So, that was it. Again, thank you soooooo much for this award! *bows* OMG, this is heavy and cumbersome. *bows again*. Ok, one hand to hold the award, one hand to manage the gown. Oh – steps. Oh – a banana peel. Oh – &%$§€@!!!

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Posted on: April 11, 2013

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When you have depression, I swear that you LITERALLY see it all black. I do, at least. When sadness creep on, it is like someone had dimmed the lights. Depression is a dreary, dark place.

Click.

Very dark.

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Pitch black, in fact.

Click. Click, click, click.

OK, not THAT literally dark – oh shit, they have cut off my electric power.

So what do you do in such a situation? Well, first you turn on your computer, observe with dismay that you have only a couple of hours before you are cut off from the rest of the world, and send a pathetic Skype IM to the Blasted Thing of your choice, telling him vaguely and cutely that you are having some kind of a problem.

It’s really nothing you need his help for, but a reply would bring the light back to your heart at least, and who needs a light bulb when you have a heart full of light?  He is going to offer his help, say that he will call the electrical company in the morning so there will be no language problems, and in the meantime you can stay at his place and have a warm shower and recharge your batteries and get a goodnight kiss, and you will graciously decline, telling him that you are a strong, independent woman who has her shit together and has only had a  split second of weakness because of the shock, and how silly was that? And he will tell you that of course you are not silly, and that you can call him any time, and to let him know if you change your mind, and anyway a promised kiss is a kiss owed, and all will be right with the world and the sun will shine and the birds will chirp and they will only very rarely land droppings on your bike, and never on the saddle or on the handlebars.

In the Real World, the Blasted Thing didn’t reply, but I wasn’t crushed, because I know that he really cares about me. I just need to get WhatsApp.

Actually, when the computer finally died on me, I regretted sending that message: both computer and phone were now turned off, and since I hadn’t stated what my problem was, it sounded like it was something really serious, and he was going to get all worried and would probably drive to my place to check on me, and this would take him the best part of twenty minutes, and what was I going to tell him then? That all that fuss was about a power outage? I considered getting ready for the inevitability by staging a real emergency for when he would come pounding at my door, like smearing myself with raspberry jam and pretending I had cut myself, or jotting down the story of my beloved auntie Genoveffa who had just died, and how close we were when I was little, and how she taught me how to knit (exhibit number one: I scarf I actually knitted myself, drenched in tears), and how she taught me how to cook (exhibit number two: a little known Italian specialty that consists in getting out anything you might have in the fridge and pouring it over pasta, a tradition of Moving Day and Last-Day-Before-the-Holidays Day and Power-Outage Day), and how she taught me how to dress sexy (exhibit number three: a glimpse of sexy underwear).

Turned out I didn’t need to bother.

So, when something like this happens, first you write for support to someone who ignores you, but you’re not hurt because it is your fault for not having the right communication platform.

Then, you retrieve your old cell-phone, whose battery has the endurance of a cardiopathic mayfly, and use it to call a friend for advice, half in tears.

She did offer to let me crash on her couch and was very helpful, but was strangely positive that the world is NOT out to get me, and I should really start and read my mail. More to the point, I should start reading it NOW, get it out of whatever place I stuffed the post into, and look for evidence of what happened. Duh, how can I read with no light? How can I open my post knowing that there’s sure to be bad news?? How can I believe that the world is not out to get me with such compelling evidence in front of my very eyes??? Really, people have the most outlandish ideas.

Finally, you call the outage service, and have the electrical company guy tell you, without even asking if you have paid your bill, got warnings, if there’s light in the rest of the house, what you had for dinner, that he is going to give you the number of a private electrician. ??? His cousin? I patiently explained to him that I believed that his company had cut me off and I would have liked to know why, and he asked me what company, so I unveiled the name of his employer, and he told me that even if that was the case, it is very complicated to find out. I was all supportive and motivating and assured him that he was a very competent and intelligent young man, and that he could raise to the challenge, and how rewarding it was when he did manage to confirm that his company had cut me off! Well done, Cousin of Private Electrician! He couldn’t explain why they had come to this brilliant idea, but he did give me a number to call in the morning. I’m so proud of him. I am sure that in a few months if he works hard he will be able to find out not only who employs him, and the way to the canteen, but perhaps even how to turn on his computer.
Can’t say the same about myself, unfortunately – well, I know my employer as well as I know myself (the perks of being self-employed), I know my way to the kitchen, and I do know how to turn on my computer – but that’s not going to help me much, since I only have twenty minutes of battery left.But anyway this all happened yesterday and I hope it will be solved tomorrow.

So you know what, I will post this and then just sit in the dark. That’s what depressed people are supposed to do anyway, right?

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Yesterday was an eventful day, since I ran into the Blasted Thing. I was sitting with a common friend in a café, and unbeknownst to me the BT texted him and suggested meeting, and our friend simply replied, “Sure, join me”.
So there he was. The man who claimed to never have time for a coffee, caught rather red-handed. I hope he doesn’t think I have orchestrated it! In fact, I would NEVER have done that, since my friends had just greeted me with the words “You look terrible, I am going to buy you a coffee”, which isn’t exactly flattering, and  when I meet the Blasted Thing I want to look my best.
Anyway. There he was.

The conversation naturally turned to his amazing disappearing act. I was really, really, really, indescribably hurt by that.  I was nice, never reproachful, didn’t try anything untoward and all in all I think I managed not to embarrass myself too much in my dealings with him. So I couldn’t understand why he would so steadfastly block me out: I had done NOTHING that could justify it. Why, why, why???
Was it me? Or was it me? Or was it me?

So I gathered my nerve and asked him. I was ready for the worst. Alright, I wasn’t really ready, but I knew that was a possibility. That he would look me in my eyes… with those chocolate eyes… those beautiful kyrgyz eyes of his… ahem, sorry, I digress. Anyway, that he would look at me and say “Look, this isn’t working, and it is better FOR YOU (for me, for me, of course) if we don’t hear from each other again”. I steeled myself. I ironed myself. I even bronzed myself, and waited for the bomb to drop.

And the bomb dropped… and…. it didn’t go off!!

He had a PERFECTLY GOOD REASON why he couldn’t keep in touch. And it had nothing to do with me! Imagine my relief! I could have laughed with joy! So he couldn’t contact me  because…

I don’t have WhatsApp!!!

So that’s it. There we were all this time, silly old me expecting him to reply to my texts, or to my IMs on Skype, or to call me, or to Facebook me, or to e-mail me, or to ring at the door, or to ask our common friends about me… and he all the while frantically waiting for me to add him on What’s App.

It’s like when you are supposed to meet someone at a coffee place, and you get there early and take a table and go to the toilet, and right then your friend arrives, doesn’t see you and gets another table at the other end of the place, and you end up both sitting there without knowing that the other one is around the corner, and thinking that since your friend didn’t call to say that she is late that must mean that she is almost there, but then she doesn’t come, and she doesn’t call, and you wonder if YOU should call, and resolve instead to give her another five minutes… and then one of the two finally calls, and hears the phone of the other ringing, and it’s all laughs and merriment.

OK, so it’s all good now! I just need to get What’s App! But this got me thinking. How many people find themselves in need to come up at short notice with an excuse for not keeping in touch? You never know when something goes horribly wrong and you find yourself face to face with some nice person who has done nothing to you and in fact thinks highly of you and is ready to buy anything you say, so how do you handle such a thorny situation? It is better to be always prepared, so I thought I would compile a helpful list of things to say:

– I know, I have disappeared, and I am so truly, appallingly sorry, but…

… I didn’t pay my internet/my phone bill/my electrical bill and can’t use my appliances

… I did light a signal fire/tried to send smoke signals, but the firemen were there in no time and hosed it all out

…I saw this great recipe and baked all four and twenty of my homing pigeons in a pie. Would you like to have a taste?

…I did buy a whiskey bottle to send a message in it, but you know, first you need to empty it, and whiskey gets better with age, so it would have been a shame to empty it so soon. I was going to contact you in fifty years or so, cross my heart it’s true

…I wrote you a message, and tied it to a balloon, and up and up it went, and then down and down it went, and then it landed in the river, and the water carried it to the sea, and a turtle mistook it for a jellyfish and swallowed it, and the poor thing choked on it, and it was Master Oogway from Kung Fu Panda, and I felt so guilty that I haven’t been the same panda, I mean, man, ever since

…I took a vow of silence. But since it is unpractical in daily life, I am doing it symbolically, towards only one person as a representative of the whole of Mankind. And I chose this person to be you. You should be flattered, really.

…my hovercraft is full of eels

…tlhIngan Hol Dajatlh’a’?

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I find myself being waaay too easily hurt, of late.

When someone cancels an appointment, it is like an elephant had mistaken me for a comfy chair. I had been looking forward to it, made preparations, pushed around my work to make space, washed my hair… and nothing. I end up sitting alone in the dark with my hair done, and perfect nails, how pathetic is that??

Of course I don’t complain because rationally I know it shouldn’t be a big deal.

Or, say, the person I’m in love with – not only he never makes time to see me, he doesn’t even want to talk to me. I know, I write to him waaaay too often, on average one or two lines (literally) once a week! He almost never replies, and when he does, he carefully avoids my suggestions for coffee. He only conceded to meet me three times this year, once because I had a present for him, and two times out of the three he brought a friend with him for safety. Right, you never know when I could lose it and jump on him.He never wished me a Merry Christmas, or a Happy New Year, or a Happy Easter – not only that, he didn’t even care enough to reply when I did.

I know, it is unreasonable to be hurt, right? So it must be me. Clearly, I am oversensitive.

Now that I have identified the problem, I can find a solution. Thankfully the Internet is full of advice on how to grow a thick skin, so I did some research and put together the best tips for my own use, and perhaps this might be interesting to some of you, too?:

Moisturise, and always wear a sun screen.

Not sure why. Perhaps to minimise the lines on your face caused by disappointment.

Never acknowledge a rejection.

In other words, become a psycho stalker. I will write long rambling letters every day, addressed to everybody who stands me up and especially to the Blasted Thing. I might neglect the blog a bit, I apologise in advance.

Have a backbone.

OK, I even have several perfectly good bones, so I’m doing very well in that department.

Put one foot in front of the other.

Not sure if this will give me thick skin or blisters?

Stop expecting what other people think of you, whatever that may be.

I will sure start doing that as soon as I understand what’s that supposed to mean. If anything at all.

Let things roll off your back.

Ah, so that’s why the backbone was singled out among all bones. But what “things”, exactly? I hope it’s not hedgehogs suffering from Wobbly Hedgehog Syndrome: they’re already having it hard enough as it is.

Suck it up.

Again, what am I supposed to suck up? OJ? Milk? Alcohol perhaps. Or ugli fruit squash. Now really, how am I supposed to do it if they give you such vague instructions?

Do not put false fingernails on a possum.

Ah, sorry, that was from How To Give a Possum a Pedicure. I guess I clicked on the wrong link because I was distracted by this ad:

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WOMAN IS 53 BUT LOOKS 27!
(actual ad)

I wonder if she came to such amazing thick skin by making use of the tips above? But I am getting sidetracked, let’s start again. Internet! Tell me all about thick skin!

People can suffer from thick skin at an early age. It can appear immediately after birth and cause severe complications which may possibly lead to death.

Oh.

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I don’t really have time to blog today, since I actually have something nice planned 🙂 . But I thought I’d post this anyway, because if not today, then when? I can’t post it in the middle of summer, although now that I mention it, the idea seems funny enough. And add something about melting chocolate and melting hopes and melting hops…

OK, I’ll stop now.

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bodymindmotion.wordpress.com/

Bet you knew that was coming: yes! Bunnies can get depression. And what does depression look like in bunnies? According to the all-knowing Internet, “Just like other mammals, bunnies can too fall into depression. It is a sort of psychiatric disorder, in which one is not interested for anything, and the one blames himself for everything bad that happens.”

I had no idea rabbits can develop a sense of guilt, but you learn something new every day, I guess. But wait! This is really interesting: if their depression is identical to depression in human, and indeed it is a well known fact that bunnies are really short humans with long ears, which justifies using them as lab animals to test such vital products as wrinkle cream, then I could be on the verge of a breakthrough! I just need to check what cures depression in rabbits, apply the method to humans, and cure depression world wide!

Everybody will be happy and I will be even happier because millions of sufferers will come to this blog to read about the cure, and then will come back to tell me how this changed their lives, and will name their pet rabbits after me, and perhaps make me a statue out of carrots.

Now, let’s see, what’s the magical cure for depression in rabbits???

Oh.

Neutering.

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