When this happens to me I just leave home and book into a hotel.
I go to my room, and sit there, all alone, quietly, and consider the reason for my unhappiness. I try to analyse why I feel so low and depressed. Then ... as it gets dark outside as well as within my soul ...
... I phone room service.
The people at room service are different from my family and friends. They have to listen to my whining and moaning. They don't neglect me with a smile and a good word of pretend sympathy. They don't put the phone down pretending there's someone at the door ... in the middle of the night.
The people at room service have to listen to me. It is their job to listen to me. They listen to my complaints about life in general. My boring job. My demanding family. The fact that the country's GDP, that's Gross Domestic Product, if you don't know ... The fact that the GDP has gone down and that inflation is on the rise as is unemployment.
Those room service people at the hotel are kind. They listen. They never hang up or pretend they are busy. And if I happen to cry and sob on the phone they come up to my room with tea and biscuits.
I like their chocolate cookies. They are different from the ones we have at home. And they say it is free ... part of the service, they say.
They listen to my problems and eventually they tuck me into bed as I fall asleep.
Over the years, I have been to the same hotel for their room service several times.
Better than going to Confession. Our priest is not always available, and when I speak to him I get the impression his mind is on the next Bingo session in the church hall.
How do you chase away the blues when you're feeling down?
