Depression in a recession.

I have a confession. I've been more than just a bit depressed lately. And not in a "listen to sad music and cry" kind of way. I mean "full on, balls to the wall, face down in the bathtub surrounded by Girl Scout cookies and ice cream" kind of way. Or the "my friends staged an intervention to get me to wear something other than sweatpants" kind of way. Let's just say it hasn't been pretty. But, after doing a lot of thinking, (and drinking) I've realized that the best thing to do would be to let my feelings out. And thankfully my blog here was looking all malnourished and sad. It's like a match made in heaven.

Those of you who follow me on Twitter and actually read my tweets are probably aware of the source of my sorrows. For the benefit of those who don't follow me (who totally should or they are dead to me), I'll summarize quickly: Met boy. Fell in love. Boy moved in. Boy moved out. Boy dumped me. Met calories. Fell in love. Calories stayed. That pretty much sums it up. And since then, I've been wallowing in self-pity, anger, sorrow, and all those other emotions I usually drown with Bud Lite. Unfortunately, my beer budget is currently zero, I had to try and find a new way to get my happy back.

It hasn't been easy so far. Little things, like a song on the radio we used to like or making dinner for just myself, make me feel a bit down still. And certain things I outright just can't do because they trigger a thought. But, it lessens a bit more everyday. I've been tweeting like a man possessed, I've started doing things I enjoyed again, and I've stopped focusing on the bad so much. Eventually I'll be able to fully let go and get back to the high points. And soar on to live my life...

But first, I think it's time me and Calories had a chat...

Twenty-three Skidoo!

I have a confession to make. It's my 23rd birthday and it's a big deal. You see, 23 in gay years is actually about 48.7 years old. Meaning I'm damn near middle age. So, in the interest of my blog and to free up time for drinking myself young again, I'm gonna start my mid-life crisis now. Since I already drive a purple convertible and have a trophy boyfriend who's younger than me, I guess the only thing left to do is complain about my lost youth. And because I'm classy, I shall do it with dignity and honor.

Ahem. *Clears throat*

*Begins emoting like Faye Dunaway in Mommy Dearest*

It's not fair! Why are you doing this to me?! I used to be young and beautiful! Look at this! See this hairline?! No? Because it's being eaten by my forehead! See these eyes? They're carrying more baggage than the queens on RuPaul's Drag Race! I have bills to pay! Rent to make! I'm monogamous!!! When did this happen?! How did I go from ravishing heart-breaker to bloated, old, bald queen?! Why?! WHY!?!?

Ahem. *Pats down hair* *Settles*

Whew. That was cathartic. In all honesty, I'm truly blessed to have made it this far in life and to have done as well as I have, considering how many big mistakes I've made. While it sucks to look back and realize I'm one year closer to being "that creepy old guy at the club", it's amazing how far I've come. And how many people supported me and guided me along the way. And I think I may be ready for the next 23. After all, I still have plenty of confessions left to make.

From A+ to F-

I have a confession to make. I'm a high school drop out. I made it through school up to my junior year, then I left. Most people find this hard to believe for some reason. Apparently, it's impossible to be an articulate, funny drop out. Even worse, it's impossible to be an intelligent drop out with a future. In all honesty, I've gotten a bit tired of the stigma, and I'd like to set some things straight.

First, let's clear the air. No, school wasn't too hard for me. Yes, I understood everything I was taught. No, I didn't get anyone pregnant. No, I didn't have to help support my starving family. School just didn't work for me. I showed up to class when my friend didn't feel like driving all over creation. I usually spent the periods sleeping or talking. (Please, at least try to look surprised about that last part.) Assignments were done when I wanted, if I wanted. Homework was just out of the question.

I know I wasn't the easiest student to teach, but I do feel like part of my problem was school itself. I loved learning, always have, always will. But being forced to learn the date the Magna Carta was first drafted and with what hand seemed pointless. Teachers could only inspire me to do work when it was something I already enjoyed, like learning about Shakespeare. Otherwise, they just didn't know how to reach me. And in their defense, it wasn't their fault. The educational system is flawed at best, with teachers over-worked and under-paid. They didn't have time to figure out how to get to me and the other 30+ students for my one class.

The one regret I have about dropping out was robbing my parents of the chance to see me walk across the stage and get my diploma. That hurts, and it's something I'll never be able to change. But even then, I wouldn't have changed my mind about leaving school. Since I quit, I've worked almost constantly, gotten my GED and scored flawlessly, helped guide my brother by teaching him how to work the school system his way, and more importantly, grown into an adult. I'm looking at schools right now to instruct me in my dream job, and I know now how to make it school work for me. Dropping out was not, and will not, be the end of my future. It was the beginning. What everyone else views as a "kiss of death" I see as a breath of life.

I may have dropped out, but my star is still rising.