Transition Depression

I got an email from Blogher the other day telling me that it has been one month since I last updated my blog. One whole month. This is, apparently, the longest length of time I have ever gone without blogging because I have never gotten that email before.

I call it the transition depression – you were all there for me during my last one about a year ago. It doesn’t feel like it was long enough ago for me to have forgotten that it happens. I had no rose colored glasses this time. I knew it was going to be hard for me - and harder still for The Boy as he struggles to find footing on a new continent.

So it wasn’t a surprise this time. It was just self loathing and bathing in a soup of boredom, loneliness and boo-hoo-I-no-longer-have-any-friends.

I have felt massively, unforgivingly uninspired. I think about doing something creative and then I take a bath. Well, it’s a novelty to say that I can take a bath after two and a half years of a two by two shower, but I don’t even really enjoy the bathing so it is just an excuse. The bathtub is sinking into the floor and pulling away from the wall so I spend bath time calculating the chance that I would be able to jump out of the water before it went crashing into the neighbor's bathroom below. I do not, however, use that soaking time to contemplate my unwritten novel.

Instead of blogging I watch T.V.. We don’t have a couch yet and so I uncomfortably stretch over The Boy, who has usurped my vintage armchair (deemed “le fauteuil moche”, or “the ugly chair” for its pale poop brown color). I zone out. We both zone out. I roll back and forth in the desk chair and decidedly DO NOT think about writing. I could. Two and a half to three hours of T.V. go into our mushy gourds every night.

Both of us desperately want to meet new people. I am hoping for another young(ish) married couple.

So Evolving Revolver has gone abandoned. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Do I start another blog? Would you all come along? Would you still read me? Will you still be my friends?

Moving forward seems like such a pain.