I have just gotten poked by several needles in short succession; until a few years ago, this would have been incomprehensible for someone like myself (mostly healthy and not prone to infection by most measures). One of my arms has already started to feel sore – or maybe that’s just my imagination. I can’t really tell, but it doesn’t matter much, because I know both arms will be sore tomorrow, but I’ll be vaccinated against cooties, those nasty girl germs, and I’ll be impervious to ray guns for at least a couple of weeks.
The reason for these precautions, among others, is that I’m returning to Iowa by jet aeroplane, and I’d prefer to not be deathly ill by way of transmissable disease while I’m there. I also hope to not bring anything back for my 80+ grandfather, who will likely outlive everyone reading this blog (all three of you) and shuffle over my bones on his way to the kitchen for another decade after the world and/or hell freezes over. I’m also going to a concert in a few days, which is at least as prone as the flying to get me sick. Yay, what a wonderful world we’ve stumbled into, blinded by spray tan and led by ignorance.
I hadn’t ever planned to go back, literally ever, but I’ve still got friends and extended family all over the state, so it was selfish of me to pretend I could ever be truly done with the place I grew up in. My politics and personal habits are both unwelcome in most areas of the state, and I’m mostly fine with that because, frankly, most of those folks have no concept of the world outside of their little farm town, 100 miles or more from fucking nowhere. There are plenty of good, kind people out in the fields of corn and soybeans, but there are also a lot of people who believe folks like myself are the literal devil (or thereabouts) and that towns I’ve lived in are somehow as crime ridden and miserable as the shitty little backwaters of the midwest actually are. Plenty of folks getting murdered in the south, if you check the headlines…
WOW
So I’ve got to double check, but I don’t think I’ve posted anything in a couple of months. I’ve got some drafts to finish but they’re several months out of date already. Like it matters, I’m really just looking for excuses to keep putting it all off. I’ve already done a pretty decent tour of the Des Moines brewing scene, even if it was almost 2 years ago. I don’t think a whole lot has changed, but I’ll have to dig a little deeper to know for sure. I usually end up talking to just the right people to find out what’s really going on when I’m motivated enough, and I’ve got 4 days to cover whatever ground needs to be covered.
I hope to get back into the groove of writing regularly again, but it’ll take some focus. My current situation offers me lots of time to do ‘things’, but the stress of looking after someone with dementia – without any real backup, 7 days a week – has pushed me into a mental state that’s been hard to see through. I’ve lived with depression for a long time, and it’s always been nearby in a world that can get sideways real quick…but this stress is something different. I never considered having kids of my own because I knew instinctively that the anxiety and stress would drive me deep into depression and despair, the crushing weight of always being responsible for someone else’s well-being, and that if you left them alone for even a day it could be dangerous to their continued existence.
Yikes
This is one of the best outlets I could have, honestly, but whenever I sit down to suck on a pint with my keyboard in front of me I’m either distracted by new friends or simply not in the mood to work on anything substantial, like this screed right here. I’m still inspired, and there are plenty of things that have my attention that should provide plenty of satisfaction in my life, but because I can take a nap just about whenever I want (if I’m feeling stressed) or just watch crappy YouTube videos all day to pass the time, a lot of it passes without me doing much of anything, and the drain on my mental energy reserves is real. The kicker is that I know in my heart that the person I’m taking care of isn’t even vaguely aware of any of this, and even when he was ‘whole’, he wouldn’t have much cared. It’s not supposed to matter, in the end, but it sure would be nice.
And so, I’m looking forward to my little trip back to flyover country, to truly have no plans for a few days, not even refilling the coffee maker before bed. There is so much more that I’d like to write about, and I will, hopefully. In the meantime, I hope you’ve enjoyed my little exposition on mental health issues, and if you didn’t, just check my other articles for more beer related bullshit.
Till next time