I've recently taken to feeling very sorry for myself. It's a feeling similar to that felt by the Beat Generation or Dustin Hoffman's character in the movie the graduate. I finished college and am anxiously or hesitantly in many cases awaiting my next step. I can't really fathom the point to all this "relaxation" I am doing and as I see my friends take off around me I've had a mini bout of depression.
The television and news media recently has gone crazy with the subject of depression amongst celebrities as one beloved one tries to kill himself, the rest come forward to reveal there secret lives of sadness and Larry King and Greta Van Susteren host panels of experts on the subject. If I was a celebrity, it would be okay to be down. But, it would only be okay to come forward in the wake of someone else's tragedy, in their fall from grace.
My friend Joe has taken to calling my house in Denver Samiraville, maybe because of what it is - a beautiful kingdom or village over which I have absolute rule...I don't think so. More likely it is because I masterfully manipulate the comings and goings of my own life from under the table because that is the only way I know how. Given the environment I am in and the life I lead, I must live under the rules that I have been given, to a degree of course, but you understand. Of course Joe wasn't thinking all this when he said, "Are you in Boulder or Samiraville today?"
A more accurate name for where I live, all the time is Crazyville, because we're all a bit mental. The problem is you can't even cry here. So, you sneak in your moments. Where you didn't used to like to waste time in the bathroom, now you take a minute and collect yourself and you emerge a new woman, ready to greet the world. Maybe it's not that profound, but it's that kind of thing, the little things, the tiny sobs in the bathroom, the stolen kisses on the train, the last day out with our friends moving to Tanzania that keep us sane and keep me the Queen of Crazyvi...I mean Samiraville.
;)
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