I went to the pride parade in Chicago yesterday. It was kind of disappointing. It was so….commercial as opposed to cultural. Home Depot has pride. Southwest Airlines has pride. Jewel Osco has pride. Isn’t that great? Shop at our stores. I would have liked to see some speakers, maybe, a history exhibit, some discussion of current events – AT LEAST some information on all the different organizations that were present. I guess in general more academic things interest me, and parties do not. What I desire is called a “conference.” Parades are not, and should not have to be, conferences.

Also, I was really disgusted at how dirty the ground was. I know they’re going to clean it up, but they really could have installed some recycling bins, handed out condoms for empty bottles and cans – something that encouraged people not to throw their trash on the ground. I feel betrayed when an event for a cause I believe in (literally) steps all over  another cause I care about. I feel that social and environmental justice are very connected.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll get off my soapbox now.

My dog is on anti-depressants.

Okay, before you comment (or, think silently to yourself without ever letting me know you read this) about how it’s ridiculous for a dog to be on anti-depressants, and we got ripped off by a greedy vet, and “ugh, everyone and their dog is popping pills nowadays, what happened to good old-fashioned dealing with your problems-”

Please consider that my dog is actually…depressed.

For months now, my dad has been trying endlessly to find out what’s wrong with our lovely Chico, and how we can make him feel better. All he does is lay in his bed and stare dejectedly at us, he’s lost considerable amounts of weight (and he’s a small dog, so it’s a huge difference), doesn’ t eat, if we pick him up he’s limp, doesn’t chase the raccoon under the deck, doesn’t even greet my sisters

Of course our first conclusion was that there was something physically wrong, but after multiple visits to the vet, they found nothing wrong. My dad got another dog to keep him company, and he got better for a little bit, but went back to his old ways pretty quickly. We thought maybe he just had the winter blues and didn’t like the cold weather and lack of green grass and sun that he enjoyed so much, but it’s summer now and he still mopes around like a lone harp seal survivor that saw its whole family clubbed.

So, the doctor prescribed anti-depressants, and he’s just like his old self again.

It’s really weird.

Is he really my old dog? Or is it just the drugs? Has he refound the joy in life? Does he really see meaning behind the world again?

…Did he ever? I mean, he is a dog. I tend to give animals more credit than other people, but I think this is higher cognition than even I thought they had. Is he capable of thinking “there’s no point” or “my life is meaningful and has purpose?” Does he understand the concept of “why?”

I feel like taking pills in order to combat those feelings is cheating, or an easy escape. I guess that stems from my belief that severe depression in people both A) has an origin within the self or the environment, and is not purely biological, and if that origin could be found and fixed then the depression would be improved to a tolerable condition, and B) is part of the human condition for periods of time beyond “2-3 weeks” and is something we should accept instead of believing we should be happy all the time, and also something we can take as a sign that some part of the life being led needs to change.

What I’m saying is that I don’t believe taking anti-depressants won’t change all the mechanisms that led to being depressed, so I think the happiness is artificial because true happiness comes from the belief that life has meaning, or the peace from the acceptance that it doesn’t, but life can be good anyway…not from sparks in your brain.

I guess all this comes from the fact that I believe in souls, not just brains.

And the reason that all matters is that I just want my dog to actually be happy, but I can’t truly believe that he is, when I know that when he doesn’t eat his medicine he won’t even lift his head for a hot dog.

Who  knows if anyone reads this thing anymore. Hopefully. Or hopefully not. I don’t know. Blogs are weird. At least for me, what I write is what I would tell people if they cared to listen. Not that I think they should care, cause to be honest, it’s not really that interesting to hear all the details of someone’s life, unless you’re me.

I mean that I like to hear about all the details of your day, not that it’s interesting to listen to me.

Well, I had another blog but it seems that I have indefinitely lost access to it, and I’m not really okay with that because – well, I don’t know why – I’ve been writing things down online for nearly ten years now, and I have a bad memory, and also the way I lost it is really silly and makes me feel stupid, so…I hope that someday I’ll be able to get it back. Meanwhile, I’m moving back here because when I don’t have somewhere to write, I panic, and when I do have somewhere to write I never post. Just to let you know.

I’ve made the previous posts on here private because…I don’t know. I felt like it. No wait. I’m working on my internet honesty: I made them private because they embarrass me. I was so hopeful for a time, then so hopeless, and in retrospect I was wrong in both situations. And it’s embarrassing to be wrong, especially because to this minute, I still identify with myself at both of those times, and I don’t want to put myself at risk of being wrong again…It’s also embarrassing that the past three times I’ve tried to spell some variation of “embarrass” I’ve spelled it wrong. Clearly, I have issues with being “wrong,” which is ridiculous, because I don’t believe anyone can ever truly be “right.” Except about spelling, I guess.

What else?

I’m in Illinois, and I miss home.

I’ve discovered that wherever I am, home is always the house 1000 miles away. I sound like a misfortune cookie.