Fireside chat, fireside chat, fireside chat—this phrase has been circling around me begging me to run to google for a definition.
Basically, the definition is simple: An informal conversation.
Okay, got it. So, since I am in the throws of writing a book on depression, is it possible to have a fireside chat about this dark subject? If my experience with the fireplace in my new home is an indicator, maybe—maybe not.
When we walked through the house the first time, the gas log insert was so appealing. The idea of actually having a fire without the mess of the debris and splinters of wood strewn about made my heart warm. But, it was short-lived since the homeowner took the insert with her. Now, she did not disclose this on the many documents, and we had every right to it, but after mentioning it with her realtor, how could we not allow her to keep it since she pleaded her emotion on us. These logs had memories attached to them, and since she was a somewhat recent widow, who am I to cause needless pain by demanding my rights? So, we decided to replace them, until we discovered the exorbitant amount these suckers cost, and it looks like this fall our good ole fashioned logs are on the autumn horizon.
I was laying in bed last night, recalling the initial months in our new home have not been as anticipated. I have yet to be happy. There seems to be an edge of dreariness in the air. Maybe something horrible happened here we do not know about and I need to perform an exorcism to work off the deadly spirits that have attached themselves to the walls.
I am rambling, yes, I know. Most likely because I want to share my informal thoughts while simultaneously weaning off my meds by doing it the doctor’s way by taking one every other day, and today is the day I am to take one. I can tell because my head gets foggy and am a bit lightheaded, which almost feels like a buzz, and I’m not entirely bothered by this, but I want to be responsible, but cannot seem to find where they are. “Someone must have stole them,” hubby says when I call him. He always says stuff like that.
He knows I always misplace stuff. So, unless they are found, I will just go without and cold turkey my way through this with hopes all will be well by the end of the week.
Okay, post op update: I am off meds completely. I am clear. Like the film placed over the cell phone to protect it from harm has been removed and now I feel the clarity of thought and feeling. This is good.
Yes, this is good.
I went on a run this morning, and this is the crystal-clear view that provides an insurmountable amount of warmth to my insides: