In which he has the blues

He did not have a good day yesterday. For one thing, with idle mind being Satan's playground and all, a day without meetings is a day he whittles away in nothings and spends too much time on the net and not enough in real life. There were emails that went unanswered and phone calls that went unmade, but instead he was on MSN pining away. And just as he thought his day was over, he was wounded by an off-hand comment (well, are any comments ever off-hand?; they are just designed to look like that). That brought him to real life, but not to a real good mood. So he decided to make a short detour to do himself some shopping therapy. (that admission forever calls into question his heterosexual status. But who cares!) Anyway, six hundred dollars of unnecessary purchases later (I sure hope J Crew and Express sales people work on commission), he got his sanity back and he was even more confused and depressed.

What to do? We are like this only!



So this morning, he comes to work all ready to throw himself into meetings and forget all about yesterday. He is going to focus on real life today, even though, deep inside him he is feeling a little depressed. Confused. Sad.

The question in front of him is this: Should he let go of all this mumbo-jumbo about feelings and throw himself under the cold-cold edges of work and forget about everything else OR should he continue to allow himself to be hurt because there is some sadistic pleasure in these lacerations of the soul? He doesn't know the answer. He thinks that sometimes he allows others too much power.

He has a million phone calls to return and people are waiting for him to make decisions. The door is closed and he has such an inertia today.

So this is what he is going to do today. He is going to go eat lunch and come back with focus and happiness. May be he will arrange to have a drink with friends after work and finally catch up with others over the phone. He is going to go for a drive before the sun sets, with sun-roof open and his speakers blaring with something really peppy and silly... If all this doesn't fix his blues, he knows he is in a bad shape.

Is there a link between too much flying and depression? Does anyone know?