Can’t you feel a brand new day…

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m fucking starving. 

Starving I tell you.  

And this is a very good thing.  

My lost post, if anyone is paying attention ,was on March 1.  

The following week was busy, as I had a new manager start at work.  

I was with her almost every minute of the day, and included working longer days than I had been.

By the end of that weekend, I was beat.  

I woke up on Monday, March 12, feeling like shit.  

It was as though I’d been hit by a truck.  

I was tired.  Cranky.  Felt out of it.  

And for almost two days, I was convinced I was getting sick.  

On Thursday, I had a realization.  

I wasn’t sick.  I wasn’t getting sick.

I was depressed.  

Talk about being insightful. 

Seriously.  

I was sitting at my desk at work, not getting nearly as much accomplished as I needed, when I realized that what I was feeling was exactly how I felt when my mom died.  

It didn’t make me feel better.  

But suddenly I knew how to start making it better.  

For me that first step was talking about it.  

When I got home from work that night, Adam asked how I was feeling, and I told him what was up.  He was very supportive and understanding.  

He asked how to help, and I told him he’d already helped, just by listening and understanding.  

The next day at work, I shared this with two of my co-workers.  I needed them to understand that I wasn’t sick, and I wasn’t wasting time.  I just couldn’t focus.  

In a perfect world, I’d have taken a sick day, but alas, that’s not where we live.  

On Tuesday, I took the day off.  And I slept.  And slept.  And slept.  

I got up at 4:30.  

And I felt much better. 

I didn’t get any of my errands done, but I felt good.  

And it was finally all gone yesterday.  It was as if the clouds had clear and there was sunshine.  

I was able to be hyper-focused, and get so much done at work.  

I was making lists, and crossing things off and felt like a normal person.  

And today, this is all confirmed as I have my appetite back.  For the last week, I’ve eaten but I don’t know that I’ve been super hungry.  Today I am famished.  I’m fucking starving. 

When I’m feeling depressed, I tend to isolate.  

I also, tend to lose interest in most of the things I do for fun, like writing.  

It’s hard to focus.  And if I can focus, it’s hard to stay focused.  

But today I am feeling better.

Funny story though…

A couple of days ago a memory popped up on Facebook.  It was a blog post from a year ago.  

Here’s a link to said story:  https://id-like-to-speak-to-the-manager.com/2023/03/16/my-time-of-day/

It’s basically said that a year ago I was feeling the same way.  Went to the doctor etc.  

And my conclusion is:  Perhaps I’m adverse to the spring time change.  

It wouldn’t be out of the question?  And it might explain a thing or two.  

And there is no reason for me to be depressed.  Nothing in my life has changed and if it has, it’s been for the better.  

So.  

I was depressed.  I’m not any more.  

Perhaps I hate Daylight Saving Time after all.  

The end.  

WORLDS TO CHANGE, AND WORLDS TO WIN, OUR TURN COMING THROUGH, ME AND YOU MAN, ME AND YOU.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Back at Bennigan’s.

Winter turned to spring, and then spring to summer.

I was starting to live my authentic life.

It was the first time, that I’d been able to be out and proud as they say.

It felt as though a 1,000 pounds had been lifted off my shoulders.

There have been a million studies about the toll that hiding in the closet takes on a gay person’s mental and physical health.

The lying.

The scheming.

The pretending.

The absolute fear that you live with daily.

And that’s without the constant verbal and physical beating that many gay people take as they pass through life.

It’s exhausting to say the least.

It’s the reason that so many LGBT people become addicted to sex, drugs, and alcohol.

You truly needed something to numb the pain and get rid of the fear that is always just below the surface.

At 22, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The door was open.

At least in Atlanta.

For the first time ever, I was living out loud.

And it wasn’t just about being gay.

I was going to bars. I was seeing theater. I was trying new restaurants, and ultimately new food. I was being exposed to culture that did not exist in a small rural town.

Who knew brunch was a thing, when you grow up in a small, dry, town in Kentucky?

I don’t think my dance card had or has ever been more filled than the two years I lived down south.

It was part growing up, part going through my juvenile years as a gay man, learning to date and be an adult. It was also part coming to terms with who I was, who I wanted to be, and learning to accept that — warts and all.

The lack of fear that I presented still astounds me. I was bold and not shy, and would put myself out there in a heartbeat. I sometimes wonder what happened to that young man.

I’m far from through writing about Atlanta in the late 80’s.

Stay tuned.

There is more to come.