I’ve no idea why, but the depression’s hitting really hard over the last week. Usually, I can find some sort of historical event in the calendar that pulls this stuff up, though I can’t this time; I guess I forgot to write it down or I’ve blocked it from my memory. In any case, I’ve just kind of been numb since the middle of last week.

Last week started out with a couple of highlights, actually. My shows at ConGregate went well, and overall, the whole weekend was generally very enjoyable, as we got to spend some quality time with friends I don’t see all that often. Then last Tuesday was our Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, which, one could argue, is significant and we commemorated the occasion with a nice date night. It’s not always been easy, but we’ve mostly made it work, and it’s a thing that we can be legitimately proud of; our relationship has evolved over the last 30 years or so we’ve known each other, but I still love her dearly and know I always will.

By mid-week, though? All shades of grey and covered in bubble wrap. Hard to feel much of anything. Can’t get excited, can’t get angry, can’t feel.

I’ve muddled through, even if I’ve not been as productive as I would have liked, and got the stuff done that I needed to get done, at work, at home, and in terms of my fitness goals; I even recorded a decent vocal track for the tune I’m working up for the “Streamer Song Swap ’23” charity record. That said, though, I am struggling to muster enthusiasm.

The closest it’s gotten the last couple of days was Saturday’s drive west to tick off a couple of new State Parks (Staunton River and Staunton River Battlefield) in an effort to change up the scenery and get some time in the sun which usually helps things a bit. The seven miles or so I hiked across the two parks was pleasant, though neither of them are going to end up on my regular rotation. It wasn’t the parks, though, that resonated. Since I still have that subscription to satellite radio in the car (the general area I was in is a radio and cell service dead zone), I diverged from my usual Hair Nation and 1st Wave to try something new. After fiddling about with Yacht Rock Radio for a bit, I landed on Prime Country of all things, which is dedicated to 80s and 90s country music. I’m not sure why I landed there, though it kind of hit the memory/nostalgia sweet spot between spending weekends with Dad and the AM radio in his car tuned to the local country station, and the early 90s “awkward country phase” where in college my lovely spouse and I spent a year or two going to a bunch of country shows and festivals in that weird period where country music got sort of progressive and feminist for a while (rather than the current bro-country business and it’s racist dog-whistles)…

In any case, as songs from Reba McEntire, the Judds, Joe Diffie, and the ridiculously infectious “Nobody” by Sylvia played for a couple of hours on route 360, I caught a minor wave of wistful nostalgia, both in terms of missing Dad terribly (this is about the time of year he passed; maybe I just answered that question from the first paragraph), as well as the pleasant memories of that time in college, which was a great time in my life, where the relationship that’s defined more than half my life was taking shape, with it’s new and exciting feelings of falling in love and figuring out what all that sort of thing means.

The emotions prompted by the music threatened, for a little while, to beat the depression back, and while I didn’t quite tear up, I started to feel like I might, which, given where I am in terms of crappy brain chemistry right now, I’m going to call a win.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a song about this sort of thing. A lot about this sort of thing, proving that these emotions (or lack thereof) hit me somewhat regularly. Music is memory, at least for me.

I may be mentally ill, but at least I’m consistent.