For you, the dress code is casual.

Sunday, July 30, 2006


Eventually the compass needle was going to drop, and now it has. I've gone south, my friends. Depression rears. Probably partly dehydration-induced, so I'll hit the water right after this. As if it's not bad enough that I'm very mood-influenced by my hydration levels, this anti-depressant I'm on, ironically, causes dehydration.

How fucked up is that? Quite, I assure you.

I'm depressed for, oh, I don't know what reason, but I'm sure there's a number of valid reasons percolating beneath my not-so-thick skin today. I think the most relevant is that, though I've seemingly gotten a lot done this weekend, I'm also conscious of how much left there is to accompish, and now the weekend's over, and what looks to be a six-day workweek looms before me.

I am, however, leaning towards my mental health and not money. We'll see.

A reader emailed me something for the second time. I guess I should get back to him, but I just don't care about opening that dialogue, or maybe I just don't want to open it. What he said was that there's apparently a correlation between genius-level IQs and depression. I'd believe it, though I'm a bit amused at his assertion that I fall in the genius-level category. Perhaps the vicinity, but I doubt the neighbourhood.

Every "very smart" person I've ever known has been somewhat depressive. I went out, off & on, with a definitively genius-level guy for seven years. Guy was a scholarship student at Oxford, England for a couple years there, but he was always somewhat blue. I've always been in and out of depressions of varying scope, and have in the past tested rather dubiously as a genius IQ. It's varied from test to test, but I've always been in the 135-167 range, depending on the test, but believe myself to be in the lower numbers of that range (135 to maybe 140), and I believe the one time I test 167 had to be on a bullshit test (but, shit, I'll keep quoting it 'cos I can). But, whatever, those are the numbers I've landed over the years, and being a bit of a dork, I've liked taking the test from time to time.

I was talking to someone recently and rather precociously suggested that artist types are more geared to depression because we're more in touch with who we are inside, blah, blah, blah. That two-penny thought was contradicted by my colleague who suggested it's not the in-touch thing that's the crux of it, but that there's not enough external balance with the internal processes. Meaning, just too inward as a whole, as opposed to other people (normal people) who get their fill in life from a variety of sources and not just mental processes that become externalized, if you know what I mean.

I'm too tired to read that over to see if it makes sense, so fingers crossed on that paragraph, man. Doozy.

Yeah, I suppose my depression's just coming from feeling overwhelmed by my week before it even gets started. I return to my new job tomorrow, for part of the day, and I'm a little wary to do so. I only have to work as long as it takes to do the paycheques, and then I can jet, but I'll lose pay as a result of jetting. Still. I might just do. I still have to tutor, and want to push myself to get into the gym. (Which has a wicked two-buck drop-in special for the next three weeks; nice timing!)

Okay, I need two things before podcasting can happen. A cable, I suspect, that will lead from my mixer to my CPU, and a pop-filter for my microphone. Tomorrow, I'll stop at Long & McQuade to look into each of those, and if not there, then Tom Lee downtown. After acquisitions, I can run wild and try shit out. I swear to god, the first time I hear a good-sounding recording, I'm liable to cry tears of joy.

I'll hate my voice, though, because I always hate hearing my voice. Others have said I have a radio-esque voice, but I always suspect they're full of shit, which isn't very generous of me. So, I'll hate my voice but love hearing it. I know I have a bit of a lisp, too, and I will hate hearing that. I think my "radio-esque" enunciation comes from years of speech therapy as a kid, back when I actually sounded like I was deaf. I went for about 3.5 years and can still, to this day, remember how much I hated trying to distinguish between the words "ask" and "ax." You have no idea how exasperating that was for me.

And, really, could I have been given any worse of a name for someone with a lisp and speech impediment when I was a kid? "Steffani." Even still, if I'm tired and am asked my name, the fucking morons who I'm speaking with think I've said "Shteffani." Makes me want to cuff someone.

My deep voice ("sultry" according to some) is from, I don't know what. I've heard in the past that a woman's voice, the deepness thereof, etc, is as a result of her levels of independence and strength, in which case I arrogantly believe that makes sense. Who knows. It's all guestimation anyhow.

So, yes, I'm a little ambivalent about hearing myself. Whatever. Soon.