Tuesday, September 30, 2003

We went to a Howard Dean house party last night to be part of Dr. Dean's Housecall. There weren't tons of people there, but this is a haven for conservative Republicans. It was okay--nothing too terribly exciting, but it was a chance to invite everyone to Meet-Up on Wednesday night. I don't know how many folks we'll have at Meet-Up, but it was worth trying to get people to come so that they don't have to drive to Iowa City.

I've pretty much decided that I can't make those Dean calls right now--and that my talents would be better used areas other than making phone calls. It's the wrong time of year for me to be doing that kind of stuff that just opens me up to feeling bad.

I'd forgotten how hard depression can tug at me this time of year. Sometimes I get really frustrated because of it. I get all indignant that I have to put forth the energy to battle it. Every single day. No exceptions. Part of the battle is embracing it as something that's a part of me, and at times, I really get mad about that. But it's like any other chronic illness--once you own it, it becomes a lot easier to deal with. For the most part, I'm feeling pretty good, but there are times where I just get frustrated (mostly at work) and want to give into it because I think a warped part of me *likes* it because it's a familiar place. Silly, and something for which I am constantly vigilant.

I was listening to the 1998 Olivia Newton-John CD Back With A Heart this morning while I got ready. Why that didn't get more airplay on country radio, I'm not sure. Actually--strike that, yeah, it didn't get radio airplay because she was a female over the age of 30. And part of the "old guard" to boot. It's actually a pretty good pop-country CD. The biggest misstep is definitely the Babyfaced "I Honestly Love You." It's superfluous and a bit on the ridiculous side (it even retains the breathy, spoken "I love you" from the original.) Plus it doesn't help that whenever I hear it, I always think of The Wedding Planner and how that song at the wedding is a curse.

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