Yesterday was good. I got my hair cut. And colored. At this age I’m trying to keep the crypt-keepers/job stealers at bay. I do not need to look old and haggard on the outside even though I feel like the hell hole undead on the inside. Seriously. This is the culture we live in; get outta’ my way grandpa. Admittedly men have it somewhat better as we age. Think George Clooney; even when he hits age 90 they’ll be a line of folks who want to fuck him. But back to feeling somewhat better about the day yesterday.

Since around March I just seem to coccoon and lay low on the weekends. And by ‘coccoon and lay low’ I simply mean keeping the blinds drawn and not leaving my apartment regardless of errands or sunny day. Saturday has become some sort of recharge day and I really don’t understand what the hell is going on. I get up, have breakfast at a nearby coffee shop, come home with good intentions but end up surfing porn, napping and — well, rinse and repeat. It’s pathetic, frankly, and I’m attributing it to my underlying struggle with depression.

I don’t want to be this slug person but here I am. I seem to manage the world Monday through Friday but my public everything-is-fine persona sorta melts on the weekend behind closed doors. It’s like I’m zapped of energy and the desire to physically move my ass. But yesterday was different.

Sunshine seems to help. It was hot here. I had that haircut appointment and while sitting with cold hair color glop on my head I got a text from a friend who was nearby. We agreed to meet for coffee. ‘Coffee’ evolved into strolling nearby neighborhoods which slid into glasses of wine and appetizers at a sidewalk cafe to people watch into the early evening. It was nice to just sit and chat. I felt awake. Present. In the now. Maybe it was the new haircut. Or maybe it was just me lowering my guard and letting life in for a few hours.

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