Apparently the Human Digestive Tract is, on average, 9 meters long (30 feet.) The diagram above shows that, when other organs are taken into consideration, digestion seems to be the main function of the body. We eat, just so we have enough energy to digest the next lot of food. If this was an economic model, it would be bankrupt – it would seem unsustainable to have such a low return from such a high investment.

Today was this weeks fasting day. You know what I noticed? I wrote over 1000 words today. That’s the most I’ve written in one day in many  years. I also noticed that the same happened the last few fasting days. When the body isn’t spending energy on food, it can divert more energy to the brain and organs – you detox while you think more clearly. I can understand why monks and spiritual leaders spend time isolated and deprived of food – the body slows down while the mind keeps ticking, but with greater input.

Started off motivated today – measured some timber, measured some wall spaces, replaced some floorboards in the kitchen and then it all turned to shit when the kids followed me into the garage. I have a punching bag – because I’m angry – and me and Caleb have our own pairs of gloves. He was wearing my gloves while I worked on making some shelves for the kitchen, then he took my gloves off and put them on the ground. Piper walked over and picked one up, which caused Caleb to scream and shout and yell (Four year olds are so much fun sometimes,) and shove Piper.

And that pretty much set me for my day. I yelled at Caleb and then yelled for the sake of yelling, threw my toys (tools, in this case) and made some angry asshole lecture about “how nobody can use it now, everyone out of the garage, roar-roar-roar.” It killed my motivation for the day. Completely. Good thing we were fasting – I didn’t have to worry about cooking, and didn’t have many dishes to clean, and the kitchen remained somewhat tidier than usual. Fasting is convenient.

I had some gardening to do today, but I only got an hours worth done. I wasn’t in the mood and it was just too damned hard to motivate myself. I look around at life, see everything that is either 1) an obstacle or 2) an inconvenience or 3) something on my list of things to do… and the world is just so damned overwhelming. I use that word a lot on this blog – overwhelming.

I visualize my depression as being like a bucket. My emotional and mental tolerance is a large and sturdy bucket with no holes. It doesn’t leak. Ever. The average person, however, their bucket is smaller and also has holes in the bottom. It constantly leaks – drip drip drip. These buckets don’t contain water, but stress. Most people start the day with an empty bucket because theirs leaks all day and leaks all night. They wake up fresh and energetic and able to take any stress (because their buckets have so much room in them.) I wake up and my huge bucket hasn’t leaked. It’s nearly full, in fact it’s ready to spill over the edge. And it’s heavy – really really heavy.

Getting out of bed means trying to lift this heavy object up and then carry it around all day. It’s exhausting and it’s all consuming because I’m worried I might trip and spill it. Nobody likes what’s in my bucket, I don’t want to spill it on anyone. It leaves stains that are hard to come out. And then you know what happens? Something, anything – but there’s no room in my bucket. It’s already full, and now with the added weight it’s beginning to slosh. Oh Fuck I’ve lost my grip and the bucket is falling – I yell at people to warn them but it’s too late, it hits the floor and shatters. Everyone is saturated.

Right, you say, This means there is no stress left now, right? Didn’t it just spill everywhere? Why thanks for asking Jimmy. See, what persons suffering depression have is an inbuilt ability to absorb stress. Why, if I were to take a depressed person and stand them in this room saturated with stress do you know what would happen, Billy? Why, that’s right, Timmy – they would act like a sponge and soak it all up. Every last FUCKING drop.

You can’t help it. Being depressed means your problems are my problems. You were late for work, then there was a hole in your shoe, then you got into an argument with your manager Russell (who is a much bigger CUNT than he realizes. You need to work on your people skills, Russell. That’s why nobody came to your birthday party.) and then you were stuck in traffic on the way home, and you didn’t get paid properly so now the bank is ringing you and you can’t buy groceries until thursday…That stress – that’s all mine, now. I soaked it all up and put it in my bucket, and now my bucket is full again.

Oh great… the cat’s yelling about something and the damn ISP is screwing around again…. Oh Fuck look out, I lost my grip on the bucket. It’s dropping. Everybody run, quick, before you get wet again.

Today’s rant was brought to you by the letters Feck and Drink and the number Arse.

This post was originally written on January 6, 2016 on my old blog.

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