Depression

It is 1:00pm. Frodo is right by my side lying in my bed. I have already fed him his breakfast but he insist on cuddling with me and is wondering why I am not up. Well, to tell you the truth, I feel I don't have a reason to get up; a reason to live. Yes, thoughts of hurting myself has passed through my mind. Maybe it's because of winter but I look at my watch again and for some reason I think it is two but it is only one. At least the whole day is not shot.
I sit in my bath contemplating weather to put the coffee maker on or just put on my sweats and jog to my pharmacy to get my medication. I put on the coffee and settle down to read Robert Jordon. He wrote fantasy novels but he passed away due to a blood disease and had another author finish his books. There are eleven books in his series. I am on the second, however, I read about six a decade ago. I read a 100 pages and then go for a jog. When I get to the pharmacy, my throat feel like it has a cough. Maybe that's a good thing because it feels like I am pushing myself. I'm addicted to cooking and I have recently put on the pounds. In order to stop me putting on more pounds, I took up jogging. I got the idea to cook from my sister. When I was in Vancouver, I've never ate so well, so I put the scalloped potatoes in the oven for 45minutes and hope for the best. The downfall of my project was that I cut up the potatoes the night before and now they look brown. I tasted it and it tastes ok. I couldn't stay up for another 45minutes last night because I had already taken my medication and it conks me out. Sometimes I can't even hear the telephone ring. The next time I make scalloped potatoes, I will make it at one time so it is more appealing to the appetite. I want to make them for my friend Nella. I have made her eggs Benedict and stuffed mushrooms; both were complimented on. I like to cook for my friend. It lifts my spirits and I like the results but the results don't last long. With the spices added to each dish, it is very hard to keep the dish longer lasting. My depression comes and goes like the waves of the sea. It is very important to ignore the temptations to due myself in. There will be good days and there will be bad days. I just have to ride the waves. It is like "A Tale of Two Cities," by Charles Dickens. The book begins with: "It was the worst of time; it was the best of times."