If You're Depressed and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

Same day, same Gay Pride Parade last year.

I was sitting in traffic--in the very special head trip that only depression can bring to you with its trashcan lid cymbals--surrounded by many, many Dorothy's.

Yes, that Dorothy. From the Wizard of Oz. Only there were many of them. With red glitter shoes. And some with moustaches. Oh! It was a glorious head trip.

Some were cheerfully shouting...

We're here!
We're queer!
And we won't be ignored!

...alternately with others who were shouting back...

We're here!
We're queer!
And these f**kin' heels are killin' me!

How could you not smile at this? I don't care HOW far GONE you are into depression. If someone with a moustache, a blue-checked dress and a Chihuahua in a basket is dancing next to your car, you can at least summon up a "Well, life could be worse. I could be wearing that dress."

The cheers? The cadence really sticks in your brain. Especially if you get into an OCD loop. And then, I thought of my own little cheer.


I chanted it all the way from the parking garage to my shrink's office.

And the other people on the sidewalk? Just cleared right outta my way.

There are SOME advantages.


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