Annus Mortui...

Haven't written in a few days. Depressed. Feeling obligated to make an appearance, but for Goddess's sake, don't allow it to spawn resentment. Depressed. Some days I've barely been able to get out of bed. Or stay out of it. Depressed. Goddess only knows how bad it would be without my medication. Praying to some sort of Muse for some sort of inspiration. Days. Nothing.
Then Greg Lake died.
Hurray!
Now anyone acquainted with me will know that I bore the man no ill will, in fact he had been a teenage crush (along with Bowie, Brian May, Peter Gabriel, and Alex Lifeson. This undoubtedly is one explanation for my usually unfeminine passion for Prog Rock.)
Think of my exclamation as one accompanied by hysterical laughter. The laughter of one who just can't take anymore. Sarcastic. Unhinged. DONE.
Death everywhere-idols, lovers, innocence, youth. Gods, even The Bear a.k.a. My Sad Cat passed this week!Some serious health problems are forcing me to consider my own mortality these days.
Annus Mortui...
At one time, I owned my own Memento Mori. A traditionally morbid object that reminded one to cherish life while we had it. Mine was the reproduction of a 17th century gravestone, beautifully and intricately carved. I intended it to be used as my own when the time came. Sadly it was stolen, along with it's mate, a genuine human skull, and several other precious items, from a storage space one year I was between moves.
As those did hundreds of years before me, I would gaze upon my 'personal reminder' each morning upon waking, and thank the Gods for a new day. I suppose I should find a new Memento Mori. I haven't been very thankful, lately.
Enough people have told 2016 to 'fuck it's own face'. Far be it from me to jump on bandwagons-but COME ON! An unethical firing from a job I loved AND the death of a cherished loved one-within days of each other?! Anyone would be left shocked and desolate after something like that. Anyone.
But for someone who already suffers from depression, the resulting grief would be incapacitating.
Except me.
I haven't been able to indulge in the luxury of mourning. I've had to hit the ground running-struggling to find a job, and gather resources to keep a roof over my head. My doctors are baffled, and have complimented me on "how well" I've been managing my grief. But I've shut everything off. .I've barely cried. This last two weeks, I took a break from the full-time job of job hunting, and tried to keep flat to assuage the agony of my chronic sciatica. I hoped perhaps I could take this time to properly cry and moon over photos, but a house guest denied me the privacy of doing so. So back to job hunting this coming week;financial situation is desperate. Not to mention a bleak, tree-less Yuletide.
My doctors have stopped complimenting me. They're getting worried,and now they're telling me so. Failure to properly process grief can result in a breakdown somewhere down the line. Well, I don't have TIME for THAT!
I suppose what all this boils down to, is that perhaps I need some kind of 'Memento Vitae'. With all this death and sadness, I need something, anything to remind me that happiness can be just around the corner. I don't need anymore images of death-they've been everywhere. Might it be time for this old goth to hang up her widows weeds?
Spring. Still so far away...