Greetings All. It has been some time since I felt inspired or active enough to blog. Please don’t be offended. I haven’t been working all that much on my thesis either. Curling up under the duvet has been a far more appealing option.
Before my Folks took off on their Caravanning Jaunt around Australia, I had an episode of Black Dog. My inability to explain to them what was going on has prompted me to compose this little bloggy post. Those of you who have suffered, or suffer, the dreaded Black Dog will understand. I have tried to limit those episodes to when the Folks are on one of their jaunts, however, one cannot control the Black Dog and I fell into a pretty deep one before their departure. Yes, I know that there are people out there having a much worse time of it than me, but that really isn’t the point. It’s not really something you can control too much. Sometimes you are just overwhelmed by it and the only thing to do is go with it, and in my case, know that at some point you will emerge from under the duvet and be able to get out of your Peter Alexander PJs and back into the world again. (Once you have showered and donned some clothes, of course! The last thing the world needs to see is a Naked Lisa!)
During a recent ‘Escape Under the Duvet’, I watched the gorgeous series of telly shorts by Emma Magenta, creator of Phillipa Finch. (Available to purchase on iTunes!) It was the first episode that rang some bells in my deadened brain. I had purchased the book as well and have copied from that a few pages that capture what the Black Dog is to me. Where Phillipa speaks of ‘love’, I am speaking about ‘life’. Fortunately, a black-dogged Lisa turns into a grotesque figure who has no appeal for the opposite sex, so I am saved from that misery.
This first image captures the whole Black Dog thing for me perfectly.
It really is a case of sometimes being completely incapable of telling the comfortable, socially-acceptable lie, “I’m great!”, when someone asks you how you are.
And worst of all, the frivolous creature whose unique way of putting things and other eccentricities cause one’s nephew to shake his head and say, “Auntie Lisa, you’re so funny” in a tone that has a hint of sarcasm, is completely robbed of her whimsy and joie de vivre. This in itself is bloody depressing.
Fortunately I have my drivers license, so I can escape in my Little White Holden Nova, some Alan Bennett audio treats emitting from my iPod. In my case, my lack of whimsy is exacerbated by the fact I realised my passport expires in October. That’s it. No more mini-adventuring for me on a whim. And what if the Australian Government won’t issue me with another passport? Let’s not go there.
There isn’t really much anyone can do. The Black Dog is something you just have to go through yourself and try to figure out a way to get to the other side, or at least, lessen its evil. Especially for those who have the misfortune of sharing an abode with you. Do not feel you have to tip-toe about when I ‘Escape Under the Duvet’. Just carry on as normal and leave me to it. I’ll emerge eventually. Invite me to things, meet me for lunch in Paris (aka La Galette on Broadway), come to the cinema or theatre with me. Moments of quiet social interaction do help. Don’t be offended if I cancel on you at the last minute or say no to a few invitations before finally accepting one. It’s not you, it’s just me getting through the mind-crap to the other side.