Too Happy To Be Sad

 A recent conversation...

Me: "I heard that this cancer can cause depression, and that I should be open to speaking with a mental health professional."

Barb: "Quite so."

Me: "But I have NO IDEA what I'd say to a depressed mental health professional!"

Barb: "Uh...."

The thing is, I don't get depressed, or frustrated. Sure, I can't sleep for the pain, and yeah, five steps and I'm out of breath, but so what?

It's life.

Last time I went to my (sadly deceased) doctor...

Doc: "You must be depressed."

Me: "Nope."

Doc: "I'll prescribe some antidepressants."

Me: "I don't need 'em."

Doc: "I'll give you some samples."

Me: "I'm not depressed."

Doc: "Okay."

And then he left, and the nurse came in

 with a prescription, and samples.

So, I don't know. I should be sad, personally and existentially, and I am not.

I'm living the dream.

So, here, tongue mostly in cheek... mostly...

I expect you'll be impressed

with sterling qualities I've got,

like, I'm supposed to be depressed,

but, dude, I'm truly not.

It's not that I'm superior

(that is, of course, a given),

and not by deep ulterior

motive is my virtue driven.

It's just that I'm a happy bloke

(or, a drongo, that's your call)

to whom all life is but a joke,

and the final curtain call

will be a spinning swirling jig

with two Heelers and a pig.

Music from Cat Stevens, with Another Saturday Night.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ROAD. Tough one!

This is the path I'm taking,

but not the one I chose;

still, I am not forsaken,

and my sore heart still knows

that through the darkness of the night,

and through the stormy day,

I can depend on Holy Might

to guide my twisting way.

And so, my friend, I'll skip along,

not fear to stub a toe;

I need not be hard and strong

for I now truly know

that this here is my own Green Mile,

and I'll walk with God in style.

Four minutes!

Here's Barb wearing her anniversary present. Stylish, yes?

The only thing that makes Sylvia sad is lack of ice cream.

Never happens.