Before today's session gets underway, I recommend you pinch your nostrils shut with a clothespin, and breathe through your mouth. Apparently something crawled under my house and died.
At least I hope it's under the house and not hidden in some cabinet or closet I haven't opened lately.
The interior of my dryer absolutely reeks of dead rodent. Of course, such a stench will not remain cooped up in a dryer. The entire laundry room stinks. The family room stinks. I recognize this odor because of the mice that died in our house in Illinois. Of course, it could be dead rat. Or if it's definitely under the house, perhaps a feral cat hobbled in, seeking her final resting place.
Now, I've said this before, and I know I'll say it again, but when I write about my problems and my depression, I'm not seeking sympathy and absolutely will not tolerate the "advice," Oh, just quit thinking about it and you'll feel fine.
But I write about myself now because I'm starting a journey -- a journey to learn more about me (one of the reasons the blog is now private), the causes of my depression, and what I'm going to do to improve my feelings about myself. Melynda from http://melyndarockinthecrazy.blogspot.com/ will be my gentle companion and commander in chief on this journey. Melynda and I will tell you more about that later. Our Crazy World lady has been super busy with moving.
I don't want you to think that my feelings and what I'm doing will be the one and only topic on this blog. I'll still tell you stories about the nursing home and post my poetry and no doubt will have some reason to write about the dogs.
However, I do want to mention one problem before I get on with the show.
I'm not feeling loved. I realize you don't notice me now that my blog is private, and it's probably difficult to remember Janie Junebug. Today I have had a total of two page views and two comments. Perhaps you could get in the habit of visiting me before you go elsewhere?
What I want to do now is post a poem by Maya Angelou. When I Think About Myself has Janie Junebug written all over it -- figuratively. When you read this poem, please don't think I feel this way all the time, but I do feel this way far too often (certain lines that relate the black experience in a white world tend to express my feelings about being a woman in one man's world).
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that's walked,
A song that's spoke,
I laugh so hard I almost choke,
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks' world,
The child I works for calls me girl,
I say "Yes ma'am" for working's sake.
Too proud to bend,
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying,
When I think about my folks.
Tomorrow I plan to post another poem by Maya Angelou, but it will express how I WANT to feel.
Infinities of love,