It just occurred to me that my house only has four windows in the entire place. That’s fewer than I had in my bedroom at the last place I lived. And I started to post something about it, basically like what the fuck guys, no wonder I’m in a funk… and then I thought about how that often leads folks to a presumption of ingratitude, wherein an acknowledgement of something that makes you sad is dismissed because look at all these other things that SHOULDN’T make you sad, and why can’t you just shove this heavy thing out of the way to give yourself a better view of the things we think are pretty? And that leads to the remembrance of all the times that people have said, not to me necessarily but just thrown out on social media, that either you are in complete control of your own happiness and are making a decision to be depressed because there is ALWAYS a bright side or that depression is some sort of noble badge you get to wear as a result of having weathered so many of life’s metaphorical storms with strength and grace, and both of those are of course utter bullshit.
Sadness is acute, and you are allowed to have that even when other things don’t make you sad. And depression is pervasive; it gets deep into your head and the reality is that sometimes you cannot see the good and sometimes there really isn’t any good (I swear if you tell me it’s good to just be breathing I will wish a swarm of yellowjackets upon your netherparts) and it’s not about where you’ve been, it’s not a sign of strength or weakness or malignant character, it simply IS. And sometimes there is help, and sometimes you just need to live in that. Sometimes you just need to have acknowledged that yes, there really aren’t enough windows in this place. Tomorrow I will get up and go to work and continue to find joy in many things, but for right this minute, in the midst of all the Christmas lights and joyful kids and central heat and air, let me please be sad about this thing, and let that be okay.
My new book, Chicken Soup for the Fuck You: Inspirations, Observations, and Character Assassinations is now available in print and Kindle format via Amazon.
Here’s a little about the book:
“Chicken Soup for the Fuck You” is spit straight from the hyperactive brain of a lifelong oddball who has, to put it simply, seen some shit. In the process of finding her voice after a decade and a half of quiet, April Fox puts a wry spin on politics, religion, and the weird and wonderful aspects of everyday life, including parenting a herd of eclectic children. In between, there are periods of darkness, and those are reflected here too.
In short, “Chicken Soup for the Fuck You” is a feel-good book for people who hate feel-good books.
April’s work has been described as “Intoxicating… Awesome, inspiring, and resonating all the way.” “…a huge dose of reality.”
“Enigmatic and thought-provoking, but still touching.”
Chicken Soup for the Fuck You is a collection of essays (some previously published here) in line with Jon Stewart’s Naked Pictures of Famous People, interspersed with brief one-liners and a few lines of verse. It runs the gamut from Barbie’s role model status to evangelist Pat Robertson’s readiness to come out of the closet to why kids with autism don’t make the best survey subjects sometimes. One early reader said he was laughing on one page, raging on the next, and on the verge of tears with the one after that; another, before reading, hoped the book came with “a piece of the author’s brain.” Chicken Soup for the Fuck You is exactly that: a slice of my brain, stuffed inside a paperback cover and served straight to you, ready to be enjoyed.