Tag Archives | feeling mental

A Lost Week in Random

I feel like I have had too many “lost weeks” lately. And by that, I mean that I know I’ve done stuff; my house, husband, and dad duties, as well as hitting the gym, photo hikes, and Mindbender visits, but in the end, I don’t feel like I have anything to show for it. 

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What’s In a Name?

I have been thinking more and more about this site lately, and I find that I’m sort of in a conundrum. See, as many of you know, I started this blog back in April of 2005. My first “real” post was about a hilly 55-mile road ride back in Western Pennsylvania, some of which was in a cold rain. 

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Stacy Was Right

In May 2021, I took the advice of my fictional editor and chose not to write a post concerning this topic. Now here we are in 2022, and this time I’ve decided to ignore the guidance of Stacy B. You have my most insincere apologies — Management.

In July of 2019, I started back to the gym for what I referred to here as “Operation Pec-Lift.” OPL was my code for lifting heavy things for no reason. I had just turned 48 years old and wanted to re-start strength training for my bones, overall health, and of course, to deflabafy1 my arms, pecs, and flaccid white man ass.

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Finding Traction

Yet another unneeded brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™

Dear Reader,

The following lengthy post deals with my ongoing search for inner peace and self-love (not code for masturbation). There is talk of mental health and depression. I am CLEARLY not a doctor, just a putz with a blog and 50 years and counting of personal experiences dealing with some depression-type shit. 

I’ve waffled back and forth on whether it’s in my best interest to post something like this or not, but given the stuff I’ve already written about myself and/or my hatred of the orange buffoon that had been in the White House for four years, I think I’ll be alright. If a potential employer sees this and is offended, you’re not the sort I would want to be associated with anyway.

And if the Google machine somehow pointed you here because you were looking for immediate help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 or visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org.

— Management

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Saved by The Birds

Last week was another “lost week” for me; every bitterly cold gray day seemed exactly like the one before, and I couldn’t seem to find the point to anything or figure out what the hell I’ve done with my life. I could easily bore you (again) with the finer details of just how horrible that feels, but instead, I will just say that come Friday morning, I finally felt the urge to lace up my boots and head out into the sunny (SUN!!!) 9˚ morning for a hike with my camera.

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Dead Carps & Cabbages

Looking back through my January posts over the years, I have talked ad naseum about my loathing of January, so I will just say, a mid-Michigan January for someone dealing with depression is like throwing a drowning man a dead carp. Sure, it might be funny for a second, but the dude drowns, and you’re out your best dead carp.

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One-Two Funk Punch

The week after the Christmas holiday, I was back on the Dreadmill in the Not So Stankment, pounding out daily 3-mile lumbers and intervals. After what seemed like months of being ill in one form or another, it felt great to get my heart rate up and to sweat again without a 101˚ fever.

So, after 21+ miles of lumbering nowhere slow, I was stoked to get back on the magic Zwift machine last Monday and get my legs back to doing what they do best. Or at least do better than running.

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Anybody that has hung around this blog for more than a few seconds knows that I don’t have the sort of personality that celebrates a New Year. Or anything else for that matter, at least not without one eye looking at the half-empty glass about to fall onto the floor and break. And this year was my best year yet of non-celebrating: a few beers, some TV watchin’, food eatin’, and in bed by nine while Wifey fumed and mentally cursed me and my worsening attitude in the living room below.

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Conversations & Thoughts

On Monday, Jake The Dog’s veterinarian had a conversation with me in which she encouraged me to start thinking about Jake’s “current quality of life.” I’m pretty sure that almost every pet owner knows exactly what that means.

Given Jake’s hind leg issues, it’s a conversation that I have been expecting for some time now, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

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Ghosts of Christmas Past

We all have fond holiday memories, at least that’s what marketing departments around the world tell us, so it must be true.

Here are a few of mine; whether they are fond memories is up to you. At this point in my life, I just laugh, shake my head, and mutter some 21st century swear words I find more fitting than Ebenezer’s “Bah Humbug!”

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