vitamin d

No, not me. Not manic at all. OK, just a little hypo, I suppose. It’s 1am, and I am still wide awake. I normally go to sleep around 930 to 10pm, but I just laid in bed counting electric sheep. So I got up and watched tv, then shut it off and started typing.

I’ve been cleaning for the past few days. No, not straight, and not maniacally. We are getting new carpet soon, and we have a shitload of cleaning to do to prepare. Being a little hypo helps, right? Ride the train until it derails.

I started taking massive doses of vitamin D. Not on my own, the doctor said I might have a deficiency. I don’t know if big D fights depression, but I certainly have a lot more energy to accomplish stuff. I haven’t felt tired at work, and I don’t feel like I should go to bed with the old folks. If you’re old, sorry, but I feel like I won’t make it to old, so I have to hit the early bird special while I can.

Dan and Nicole just made a Taco Bell run – do they still call it #fourthmeal? I just had a taco after 1am for the first time since I was 25. One time in Vancouver while I was manic I went to TB and they screwed up my order. I walked back to the drive through window and started screaming at them. Not one of my prouder moments.

This post makes no sense. Maybe it’s the scotch talking now. Yes, I’m still up late, even after a couple of shots of the drink of my ancestors. Vitamin D, meet Vitamin G (for Glenfiddich).

Tomorrow is going to be a bitch.

meeting minutes


I work for a big utility company, and today we had a meeting to hear about the things our company is doing. I took notes, as you can see.

The company invested in a solar plant in California, and they hired a sheep herd to control grass. Unfortunately, coyotes like to eat sheep, so the sheep would jump up on the solar panels to avoid being eaten. This would break the panel, and someone would have to replace it.

The sheep, being simple minded creatures, have no idea what inconvenience their survival instinct creates. They see teeth, and wish to avoid them, giving no thought as to what havoc may be caused. Call it the Butterfly Sheep Effect.

These broken solar panels cost money, and solar power is still expensive on a large scale, and oh by the way there will be no extra money for bonuses this year. Instead we will get a 1-year membership in the “Jelly of the Month” club for Christmas. It’s the gift that keeps on giving the whole year.

paranoid again

Well, of course it wasn’t about me. She was very stressed due to a rough day while training for a new part-time job. She seemed to feel better after going out with her mom and dad for a while last night. She talked about her day without crying, and she enjoyed my cake and ice cream.

What does it say about my self-esteem that I automatically think her crying is somehow my fault? Instead of waiting to see what the problem is, I assume that it is because I’m a bad person, or I have failed. I wasn’t able to please her, so she hates me.

I know she has stress and depression and frustration about life in general, therefore I should do more to help her. This noble desire runs up against the brick wall that is my lack of motivation. I sit on the couch, doing little or nothing, and feel guilty. When I do manage to accomplish something, I attempt to win her favor when she comes home: “I cooked today,” or “I took care of leaves,” or whatever trivial task I can come up with. In the meantime she comes home to everything I didn’t accomplish during the day. I do what I can with what little energy I have, but I feel like it is never good enough to please her.

None of these feelings are her fault. I’m projecting all my insecurities and negativity, imagining that she is thinking about all my inadequacies. I imagine everything is about me, and I don’t try to communicate to see what the problem really is.

Then again, it’s not paranoid if it’s true. What if she is thinking these things about me, and truly is disappointed with me as a husband?


deer in the headlights

Mrs. Fish came home crying today, and I don’t know what to do. She won’t talk about it, but quietly she makes vague statements about not being able to please everyone, and not wanting to let everyone down. It’s also her birthday, and I didn’t plan anything other than giving her a gift she told me she wanted. Yes, I suck as a husband.

Not knowing what to do about the situation, I turn to food. Food fixes all emotional problems, right? I will give her cake and ice cream in the hope that it covers up whatever is wrong.

Maybe food will distract her from the fact I didn’t really do anything to help her celebrate. It doesn’t help that her Fakebook friends hope that she Parties Hard and Has A Blast, because isn’t that what everyone wants? Hmmm, maybe she does want a party, but I’m the wrong person to help with that. I can’t plan a party, I don’t know any of her friends because I don’t take the time to meet them, and besides it would be too awkward to talk to them anyway.


What if I’m the problem? How can I fix that with food?


In the last 10 years, I have:

  • worked at 5 different jobs in 4 different occupations
  • been laid off, then unemployed for 9 months
  • learned, then forgot how to drive a big rig
  • visited 9 different baseball stadiums
  • visited the rock & roll, baseball, and football hall of fame
  • learned to hate winter
  • learned to hate fall as much as winter
  • charged up and (almost) paid off my credit card debts
  • used 13 different psychotropic medications (not all at once!)
  • almost left home numerous times, then was later glad that I didn’t
  • written over 1000 blog posts
  • regretted moving across the country many times
  • remembered that my old mortgage in California would still be underwater
  • watched my kids grow up
  • watched Nicole develop bipolar disorder
  • never forgotten my manic road trip through the Sierras to Las Vegas
  • lived in one house, after moving 7 times in the previous 10 years
  • bought, sold, and missed my favorite pickup truck
  • been in the hospital once, and probably should have been twice more

think, McFly

back to the future

Today is the date that Doc and Marty set on the clock in “Back to the Future II”. If only a young Fishrobber could hop on the DeLorean and visit me today. I would have so much to tell him, but of course if he acted on my advice, it would change my history.

Your history is what you made it, and maybe young Fishrobber could have done a better job making choices in that stage of his life 30 years ago. If he had changed just one of those pivotal moments, things would have been different. Still fucked up, but different.

If he does come visit me, this post will probably not exist.

the smart kid

I had been labeled the “smartest kid in the class” by the time I was in 2nd grade. This may have been true, but it became one more reason I didn’t fit in very well with the other kids. I was geeky and awkward, I had few friends, and the other kids liked to tease me. I already knew I was different, and I hated being singled out as the smart kid.

The teachers didn’t make life easier for me. They tried to turn me into a teacher’s aide, telling me to help other kids with their work because I had already finished mine. I didn’t want to, but I was too afraid to question authority. At first I thought the other kids appreciated the help, but eventually I learned most of them were mocking me. I was the Teacher’s Pet, I was the kid who knew how to fix the film projector, I was the kid who got to clap the erasers and get covered with chalk dust in the process.

In 3rd grade, I had completed the reading and math books all the way through the 6th grade level, and I was told our school had nothing else for me to read. This was in the days before advanced programs and special learning labs and the internet. My school administrators were either uncooperative or lazy, and would not borrow books from the middle school. I stagnated, and I hated school.

With good intentions, one teacher decided to take matters into her own hands. She gave me special projects to work on, including book reports, essays, and science projects. Occasionally I would work with the other kids on something, but usually I was working on my own. At one point, my desk was separated from the others and placed behind a tall partition so I could “concentrate”. I knew I was being further isolated from the other kids, but I didn’t like most of them anyway.

One time in 4th grade there was a school spelling bee, and I wasn’t interested. I liked being smart, but I didn’t want the attention of the whole school focused on me. My teacher told me I had to participate, and I was still afraid to question authority figures. I went onto the stage, waited my turn, and intentionally misspelled my first word. I could hear the chatter in the crowd as I walked off the stage and went outside to sit in the oak tree.

lesson learned

Well, the whole “I can be a serious mental health blogger” experiment has ended in disaster. What started as a good idea became a place filled with my frustrations and anger, and it needed to stop. Someone with more insight reminded me how writing about family members in that way could be hurtful and damaging. Whether or not the blog is discovered by my family, I need to be more sensitive to their feelings. I also need to be mindful about the privacy of my family, and let them share with the world what they choose.

Where do I draw the line between censoring myself and respecting the people I love? I want to be able to write anything, but maybe I don’t need to post everything I’m thinking. Writing in the moment can produce some raw and honest work, but maybe I can let some things wait for a few days before I actually post them. That would help prevent me from posting something hurtful while I am in the middle of a mood swing, then regret it later when I am feeling better.

blips and dips

I think the extent of my mood swings are not always evident in my posts. Because I don’t write every day, I skip over some of the small ups and downs that happen on a daily basis. I have my longer swings between depression and feeling okay, then I have the very short episodes that happen in the space of hours to days. I am pretty sensitive to external events, and sometimes all it takes is one little stressor to send me into a short depression. When a short spiral coincides with a long-term deeper depression, that is when I feel worst.