Today, I was unable to get out bed in order to go to my job. Some people would call this depression, I call it Tuesday. I had one of those days when I come to the horrifying realization that everything’s wrong. Nothing is making me happy and I am determined to sift through my bag of tricks in order to come up with a solution. Solution #1: call my mother.
Me: Hi, mom, it’s me. I’m dead inside and have lost the willingness to participate in life.
Mimi: What do you do for fun?
Mimi: Well are you dating anyone?
Me: *muffled sobs*
Mimi: Honey, you need to get a social life.
That bitch. How dare she question my social activities. I was furious so I decided to take a nice relaxing bath to calm my nerves. Two weeks later, I still have an ear infection from this process. I don’t know what kind of asshole it takes to harm themselves in a bathtub but these are the sorts of instances that haunt my existence. The next morning, when I noticed water in my ear, it should have been a clue that my ideas never work. I was furious, unable to hear and late for a haircut so I jumped in my Daewoo and furiously drove to meet my big, gay hairdresser who I knew would make me feel better. After he kissed me on the lips upon arrival (West Hollywood, classic), we discussed my new haircut.
Big Gay Hairdresser: What do you want to do?
Me: I don’t care.
Me: There is no God.
Me: Can I smoke in here?
BGH: Don’t worry, we’ll do something fun.
Apparently fun to a Big Gay Hairdresser translates to Mark Twain characters because now I look like Tom Sawyer. What’s worse is that I look like a breed of Tom Sawyer who never saw the sun and let me just tell you this haircut did nothing to boost my self-esteem, despite the swarm of gay men who hit on me the rest of the day.
In order to offset the horrifying, cry-for-help haircut I had just received, I swung by the tanning beds. I hadn’t been in a tanning bed since I was in high school and the prospect of looking young again thrilled me. After about an hour of lathering up with some horrid lotion and then laying on plastic for 10 minutes, I came out looking like an orange checker board. I’m not even sure how this is possible. Streaking is typically something that happens when you spray tan but as my life goes, I was the one in a million who suffered these consequences in a legit tanning bed. I suppose this is what I get for requesting the full dose of cancer.
Seeing as none of my wretched solutions were working, I attempted to take my mother’s advice and get a social life. On Friday, as I began to execute this plan, I suffered a minor set back by accidentally taking a nap. I awoke around 8pm, desperate to create my social life. I started by calling my friend Julie.
Julie: What’s up?
Me: My mom says I need a social life.
Julie: I’m babysitting. Wanna hang out on Sunday?
Me: That seems aggressive. The problem with making plans is that then the day finally comes along and I’m forced to do something.
Julie: You’re a terrible person. *click*
After my call with Julie, I realized that in order to have a social life I would have to a) leave my house, b) drive somewhere or c) hang out with people. I’m good at none of those things so instead I ate ice cream, which I am excellent at.
I’m not sure what the cure for depression is, but I’m like 90% sure it’s not calling your mother, tanning or getting a haircut. Every time I try to fix something, I end up breaking it even more. Perhaps, in my case, the best action is to take no action at all. This thought brought me so much peace that I was finally able to let it all go. That night, I slept like I baby. I laid my head on my pillow, forgot about the days’ events and thought for a minute that I could actually hear the ocean. And then I remembered, it wasn’t the ocean at all, it was a god damn ear infection.