Lovesac, Baby, That’s Where it’s At

My little brother called me today.

He ignored my text last week–and I was offering him money–a substantial sum of money even (yes, I consider any three-digit number a substantial sum at this point in my life, and no, it wasn’t my money; I was just the middle man), so you know he was depressed.

But never mind, he has come out of his funk. Well, not really. He’s still depressed. But now we are depressed together, and that’s always more fun. We traded yesterday-I-was-so-depressed-that-I stories and mocked ourselves mercilessly for our obsessive need to be in control of our own destinies, and then we sat there in that awkward we-just-talked-for-an-hour-and-a-half-about-nothing-and-now-there’s-no-more-nothing-to-talk-about-but-how-do-we-end-this-weird-conversation silence for a few moments.

Fortuitously, my neighbor chose that moment to knock on my door, and not being so terribly depressed as to ignore it, we were both given a graceful excuse to end the call. Which proved fortunate, as she had an over-abundance of freshly-caught salmon to share, and I had been trying to figure out what to do for dinner.

It turned out that she, too has been depressed, though, so instead of cooking, I remained sprawled out on my Lovesac–which, incidentally, I inherited from said depressed little brother, and which I highly recommend as a piece of furniture (and yes, I’m talking the BigOne, in all its glory)–and we engaged in a mutual, in-depth, two-hour counselling session, while my boys wandered around looking pallid and pathetic. Several of them, anyway; half of them are out of town, and I’m pretty sure that excuses Mother from dinner-duty in most civilized countries. (Have you counted the number of hyphens in this post yet?)

I think they figured out the dinner clause, too; they’ve all disappeared at any rate, which leaves me no choice but to remain right here on my hand-me-down sac of synthetic foam and conclude that they can’t possibly be hungry at this time of night. Maybe I’ll direct someone to set out that Costco-sized bag of peanut M&M’s I’ve been saving for our camping trip, and call it good.