Apparently I have a reputation in this house for only pulling out the Titanic Soundtrack when I am feeling a little, oh, how shall we say it? Not quite up to snuff, perhaps.
So today, when my son walked into the living room to find me curled up on the sofa, busily sewing the binding onto a quilt (which only has a deadline of tomorrow night), with Titanic in the background, of course his first question was, "Are you feeling depressed?"
"No," I said, "Melancholic."
"What's the difference?"
"Melancholy has only one 'e' whereas depressed has 3."
"Seriously, Mom?"
"Historically, melancholy was another term for black bile since it was believed that an excess of said excretion caused a person to feel sad or depressed. Depression has no such relationship to the dark-colored substances in your iternal organs"
"Well, then, do you have an excess of black bile?"
"No dear, I don't believe so."
"OK. Good. I'll be downstairs if you need me."
Such a kind and caring boy, don't ya think?
And then when I hit "Post Blog," an ad came up saying, "Learn the Depression Signs." Maybe it's a conspiracy. But then that would be paranoid schizophrenia, wouldn't it? Oh, Dr. Painter, just look what I learned in my college psych classes. You would be so proud.
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