Did you stab anybody over Christmas?
A few women did. One lady stabbed her fiancé during an argument over the color scheme for their wedding. Another woman was so upset when her boyfriend came home without beer on Christmas that she beat and stabbed him with a ceramic squirrel.
A ceramic squirrel.
Honey, you know I've got an opinion on this. Check out my take on ceramic-squirrel-on-human violence at Aiming Low.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Marriage + Cake = Awesome.
I had a horrible headache last night. It was the kind of headache where you collapse on the bed without taking off your boots.
I laid there. I considered what it would be like spending the rest of my life curled up on the bed, wearing boots. I thought about all the good times I would miss, and the fun trips my husband would take without me. My head throbbed so that I wasn't even that sad - I was just numb, and accepting of the fact that my life was basically over. These things just happen.
Then, My Guy showed up. He sighed, and pulled my boots off. Then, he instructed me to get under the covers.
"I'm wearing clothes. I can't get in bed," I said.
"Sure you can," he replied. And he got under the covers in his street clothes. So I did, too.
He read. I let the ibuprofen kick in. Pretty soon, he whispered, "It was really smart of you to bring the chocolate cake upstairs. Because, you know, I really want some cake now, and the kitchen is so very far away."
"I didn't bring the cake. But you could go get it."
He left.
And then he came back with the cake pan and a fork.
He got back in bed, rested the cake pan on my back, and chowed down.
Despite my headache, that cake smelled so, so good. It smelled like the cure for all that ailed me. It was the answer to my headache prayers.
I propped myself up, and we took turns with the fork. We got cake crumbs in the bed. At one point, My Guy looked at me and said, "Hey, fellow adult."
We laughed. I felt 100 times better.
And that is why it's important to a) have a good cake recipe; and b) marry someone who isn't afraid to break the rules.
I laid there. I considered what it would be like spending the rest of my life curled up on the bed, wearing boots. I thought about all the good times I would miss, and the fun trips my husband would take without me. My head throbbed so that I wasn't even that sad - I was just numb, and accepting of the fact that my life was basically over. These things just happen.
Then, My Guy showed up. He sighed, and pulled my boots off. Then, he instructed me to get under the covers.
"I'm wearing clothes. I can't get in bed," I said.
"Sure you can," he replied. And he got under the covers in his street clothes. So I did, too.
He read. I let the ibuprofen kick in. Pretty soon, he whispered, "It was really smart of you to bring the chocolate cake upstairs. Because, you know, I really want some cake now, and the kitchen is so very far away."
"I didn't bring the cake. But you could go get it."
He left.
And then he came back with the cake pan and a fork.
He got back in bed, rested the cake pan on my back, and chowed down.
Despite my headache, that cake smelled so, so good. It smelled like the cure for all that ailed me. It was the answer to my headache prayers.
I propped myself up, and we took turns with the fork. We got cake crumbs in the bed. At one point, My Guy looked at me and said, "Hey, fellow adult."
We laughed. I felt 100 times better.
And that is why it's important to a) have a good cake recipe; and b) marry someone who isn't afraid to break the rules.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Call me maybe.
Looking for a new way to feel completely demoralized and become sure that you're a social leper? Might I suggest becoming a freelance writer?
I'm working on yet another newsletter article for Bob's Mattress Shack. Bob himself is a real nice guy. People love Bob, and agree to whatever he asks of them. However, when Bob asks people to talk to me for a newsletter article? They tell him, "Of course, anything for you, Bob!" And then they tell me ... nada.
Like, they don't take my calls. They don't return my calls. They screen my calls.
One guy put me on hold for so long that it took me back to the fateful summer when I waited too long to procure summer employment. The pickin's were slim, and so I worked ... as a telemarketer.
Yes. I called people with Conoco credit cards and offered them life insurance. It was miserable.
If you ever wonder where dreams go to die, look no further than a telemarketing floor. Nobody grows up wanting to be a telemarketer. And as if having a job you don't like isn't enough, that job you don't like involves people actively hating you.
I got yelled at, hung up on, and called names. And yes, folks would set the phone down to go get the person I asked for ... and they'd just leave. I sit there and wait and wait and wait, while my stats tanked. I knew my supervisor with the leather tie and safety-pinned "dress" pants would be mad, but it was so nice to have a moment when I wasn't actively being crapped upon. Sitting in silence was actually preferable to real human interaction.
There were some bright spots. I spoke at length to some very lonely people. I was miserable, they were lonely, and we cheered each other up. Also, if you're looking for a vocation that will keep you in school, out-bound telemarketing is it. I think only shoveling shit could be worse.
So, this time around, with the guys who don't want to talk to me about Bob's Mattress Shack? Well, I'm sure they're busy. But for the love, is it really so hard to just say, "No, thank you?" If you can't tell Bob, tell me. Stop wasting my time. As much as I hate confrontation, if I - of all people! - am telling you to be vocal? Perhaps you should do it.
The difference between interviewing for a newsletter article and telemarketing for Conoco life insurance is that I'm a touch mellower now. Bob's Mattress Shack hasn't made me cry, and I cried almost every day telemarketing. It was difficult for 19-year-old me to be very, very bad at something.
I was a horrible telemarketer. People would tell me "no" and I'd be all, "OK, thanks for not calling me a low-life telemarketing bitch" instead of going into the 3 scripted retorts. My coworkers would take smoke breaks and slam cans of Jolt and I'd be the quiet college girl drying her eyes in the bathroom, taking it all way too personally.
One guy I called politely turned down the life insurance, and as he was hanging up, I heard his conversation with a friend. "Dang," he said, "She sounded hot."
So, if writing doesn't work out, I guess there's always phone sex.
I'm working on yet another newsletter article for Bob's Mattress Shack. Bob himself is a real nice guy. People love Bob, and agree to whatever he asks of them. However, when Bob asks people to talk to me for a newsletter article? They tell him, "Of course, anything for you, Bob!" And then they tell me ... nada.
Like, they don't take my calls. They don't return my calls. They screen my calls.
One guy put me on hold for so long that it took me back to the fateful summer when I waited too long to procure summer employment. The pickin's were slim, and so I worked ... as a telemarketer.
Yes. I called people with Conoco credit cards and offered them life insurance. It was miserable.
If you ever wonder where dreams go to die, look no further than a telemarketing floor. Nobody grows up wanting to be a telemarketer. And as if having a job you don't like isn't enough, that job you don't like involves people actively hating you.
I got yelled at, hung up on, and called names. And yes, folks would set the phone down to go get the person I asked for ... and they'd just leave. I sit there and wait and wait and wait, while my stats tanked. I knew my supervisor with the leather tie and safety-pinned "dress" pants would be mad, but it was so nice to have a moment when I wasn't actively being crapped upon. Sitting in silence was actually preferable to real human interaction.
There were some bright spots. I spoke at length to some very lonely people. I was miserable, they were lonely, and we cheered each other up. Also, if you're looking for a vocation that will keep you in school, out-bound telemarketing is it. I think only shoveling shit could be worse.
So, this time around, with the guys who don't want to talk to me about Bob's Mattress Shack? Well, I'm sure they're busy. But for the love, is it really so hard to just say, "No, thank you?" If you can't tell Bob, tell me. Stop wasting my time. As much as I hate confrontation, if I - of all people! - am telling you to be vocal? Perhaps you should do it.
The difference between interviewing for a newsletter article and telemarketing for Conoco life insurance is that I'm a touch mellower now. Bob's Mattress Shack hasn't made me cry, and I cried almost every day telemarketing. It was difficult for 19-year-old me to be very, very bad at something.
I was a horrible telemarketer. People would tell me "no" and I'd be all, "OK, thanks for not calling me a low-life telemarketing bitch" instead of going into the 3 scripted retorts. My coworkers would take smoke breaks and slam cans of Jolt and I'd be the quiet college girl drying her eyes in the bathroom, taking it all way too personally.
One guy I called politely turned down the life insurance, and as he was hanging up, I heard his conversation with a friend. "Dang," he said, "She sounded hot."
So, if writing doesn't work out, I guess there's always phone sex.
Monday, January 6, 2014
On the superhighway to Oldladyville.
I live in the Midwest, which means that it's peel-your-face-off cold today. If I go outside, I'm pretty sure it will be like that scene from "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when all the Nazis melt. Except it will be me, melting somewhat from the cold but mostly from the vaporized wrath of all the parents whose kids are home because schools are closed.
So, I'm wearing fleece this and ancient crappy sweater that, and am refusing to leave the house. I'm a hearty Iowan and all, but part of being hearty is knowing when to keep your ass in your damned house.
Today, the day when it's so cold that the world is pretty much shut down, is the day that I discovered a sun spot on my hand.
The spot wasn't there yesterday. And today it's all, "Oh, heyyy. I'm spotty and I'm here to stay!"
Thanks to our pal Google, I know that it's not officially a "sun spot," but is conveniently referred to as an "age spot." Because it means you're old. Back in the day, it was called a "liver spot." Because old people love to eat liver. Because being old means losing all taste.
Google says age / liver spots are caused by sun. Which is all the more annoying because THE HIGH TODAY IS 3 DEGREES. I could not possibly be any farther from a sun worshipper today. Or any day, really. In the summer, you'll know me by my SPF 75. You know, the pale girl in the shade? No, I'm not an apparition. That's my skin. Yes, I guess I will be easier to find now that I have this dark liver spot on my hand. It can act as a beacon. A beacon for the AARP membership asks and coupons to the early-bird buffet.
Can we just agree that it's woefully unfair to be freezing your ass off when you discover a sun-related age spot? Please? I don't ask for much - just a tiny bit of rationality as I ease into my decrepitude.
So, I'm wearing fleece this and ancient crappy sweater that, and am refusing to leave the house. I'm a hearty Iowan and all, but part of being hearty is knowing when to keep your ass in your damned house.
Today, the day when it's so cold that the world is pretty much shut down, is the day that I discovered a sun spot on my hand.
The spot wasn't there yesterday. And today it's all, "Oh, heyyy. I'm spotty and I'm here to stay!"
Thanks to our pal Google, I know that it's not officially a "sun spot," but is conveniently referred to as an "age spot." Because it means you're old. Back in the day, it was called a "liver spot." Because old people love to eat liver. Because being old means losing all taste.
Google says age / liver spots are caused by sun. Which is all the more annoying because THE HIGH TODAY IS 3 DEGREES. I could not possibly be any farther from a sun worshipper today. Or any day, really. In the summer, you'll know me by my SPF 75. You know, the pale girl in the shade? No, I'm not an apparition. That's my skin. Yes, I guess I will be easier to find now that I have this dark liver spot on my hand. It can act as a beacon. A beacon for the AARP membership asks and coupons to the early-bird buffet.
Can we just agree that it's woefully unfair to be freezing your ass off when you discover a sun-related age spot? Please? I don't ask for much - just a tiny bit of rationality as I ease into my decrepitude.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Cha Cha's Favorite Books of 2013.
2013 was a good year for reading. Here are some of my favorites.
Best Novel That Should Have Been Depressing But Wasn't
Mary Coin by Marisa Silver. This novel is based on Dorothea Lange's famous "Migrant Mother" photo. If you've ever had a passing interest in the story behind a famous image, you'll find this novel enthralling. It spins a tale about the photographer, the woman in the photo, and how they ended up at that moment forever frozen in time. Ultimately, it's a tale about how we're shaped by our choices, and how life shapes us.
Best Author Who Published 2 Amazing Novels in 1 year
Rainbow Rowell. Oh, honey. I lurve her. Both of her 2013 releases were officially young adult novels, but I loved both of them and feasted on them like a teenage boy at Old Country Buffet. Eleanor & Park is the story of a first love that takes place in the 80s. Fangirl follows the heroine through her first year in college - and her role in the fandom culture around a Harry Potter-esque book series. Both books made my heart both delight and hurt, remembering what it's like to be 16 or 19 or just ... new.
Best Book to Read While Trying to Figure Out if I'm a Housewife
Homeward Bound: Why Women Are Embracing the New Domesticity by Emily Matchar. Know what canning, homeschooling, and mommyblogging all have in common? They're all being embraced as part of "the new domesticity" - that movement of educated women who are turning their energies to the homefront. This book examines everything from the vaccine wars to homemaking as a radical feminism. It made me feel less alone about feeling that Pinterest is the devil's playground.
Best Book That's All Pictures But Still Counts as a Novel
The Scrapbook of Frankie Pratt: A Novel in Pictures by Caroline Preston. I never, ever buy books, and I especially never buy hardbacks. However, this book is so gorgeous that I paid real cash money for the hardback. Preston amassed ephemera from the 20s to create the scrapbook of the novel's heroine. She tells the story of young Frankie and provides a fascinating look at education and culture of the period. Plus, it's a fun little tale.
Best Novel About Morality or Lack Thereof
The Chaperone by Laura Moriarty. I couldn't put this book down. It's a fictionalized account of the woman who chaperoned the very real, soon-to-be-movie-star Louise Brooks to New York. This page-turner hums with energy and offers some sly lessons on what's right, what's wrong, and who should just keep their damned mouths shut.
Best Book That Justified My Existence as an Introvert
Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain. Our society values the "extrovert ideal." And guess what? Some of us are introverted. And introverts can be brilliant! And we shouldn't have to pretend to be extroverted! If I were still working in Corporate America, I would have purchased several copies of this book and slipped it into the mailboxes of a few clueless managers.
Best Biography That Satiated My Love of Old Hollywood
Vamp: The Rise and Fall of Theda Bara by Eve Golden. Theodosia Goodman grew up in Cincinnati. However, the movie industry presented her as Theda Bara, an exotic who grew up in the shadow of the Sphinx. And people bought it! This book is a fascinating look at the dawn of movie publicity, as well as the difficulty of distancing yourself from your press ... or believing it.
Best Book That I Guess Is Embarrassing But I Thought Was Fan-Freakin'-Tastic
How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran. If you've ever wondered what Tina Fey would sound like if she were drunk, potty-mouthed, and British, Moran is the author for you. She's honest, feminist, and completely engaging. I had some friends say they were shocked by her descriptions of stuff we all know about (Aunt Flo! Bras!). But I think she's just being authentic and awesome. This book made me laugh out loud.
Whew!
My towering pile of "to-read" books isn't nearly tall enough to cause serious injury. What books do you suggest I add to it?
Psst ... when you click through my links, Amazon throws some spare change my way. This enables me to pay my library fines, stay out of library jail, and keep entertaining you with my hard-hitting literary and cinematic criticism.
Best Novel That Should Have Been Depressing But Wasn't
Mary Coin by Marisa Silver. This novel is based on Dorothea Lange's famous "Migrant Mother" photo. If you've ever had a passing interest in the story behind a famous image, you'll find this novel enthralling. It spins a tale about the photographer, the woman in the photo, and how they ended up at that moment forever frozen in time. Ultimately, it's a tale about how we're shaped by our choices, and how life shapes us.
Best Author Who Published 2 Amazing Novels in 1 year
Rainbow Rowell. Oh, honey. I lurve her. Both of her 2013 releases were officially young adult novels, but I loved both of them and feasted on them like a teenage boy at Old Country Buffet. Eleanor & Park is the story of a first love that takes place in the 80s. Fangirl follows the heroine through her first year in college - and her role in the fandom culture around a Harry Potter-esque book series. Both books made my heart both delight and hurt, remembering what it's like to be 16 or 19 or just ... new.
Best Book to Read While Trying to Figure Out if I'm a Housewife
Homeward Bound: Why Women Are Embracing the New Domesticity by Emily Matchar. Know what canning, homeschooling, and mommyblogging all have in common? They're all being embraced as part of "the new domesticity" - that movement of educated women who are turning their energies to the homefront. This book examines everything from the vaccine wars to homemaking as a radical feminism. It made me feel less alone about feeling that Pinterest is the devil's playground.
Best Book That's All Pictures But Still Counts as a Novel
The Scrapbook of Frankie Pratt: A Novel in Pictures by Caroline Preston. I never, ever buy books, and I especially never buy hardbacks. However, this book is so gorgeous that I paid real cash money for the hardback. Preston amassed ephemera from the 20s to create the scrapbook of the novel's heroine. She tells the story of young Frankie and provides a fascinating look at education and culture of the period. Plus, it's a fun little tale.
Best Novel About Morality or Lack Thereof
The Chaperone by Laura Moriarty. I couldn't put this book down. It's a fictionalized account of the woman who chaperoned the very real, soon-to-be-movie-star Louise Brooks to New York. This page-turner hums with energy and offers some sly lessons on what's right, what's wrong, and who should just keep their damned mouths shut.
Best Book That Justified My Existence as an Introvert
Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain. Our society values the "extrovert ideal." And guess what? Some of us are introverted. And introverts can be brilliant! And we shouldn't have to pretend to be extroverted! If I were still working in Corporate America, I would have purchased several copies of this book and slipped it into the mailboxes of a few clueless managers.
Best Biography That Satiated My Love of Old Hollywood
Vamp: The Rise and Fall of Theda Bara by Eve Golden. Theodosia Goodman grew up in Cincinnati. However, the movie industry presented her as Theda Bara, an exotic who grew up in the shadow of the Sphinx. And people bought it! This book is a fascinating look at the dawn of movie publicity, as well as the difficulty of distancing yourself from your press ... or believing it.
Best Book That I Guess Is Embarrassing But I Thought Was Fan-Freakin'-Tastic
How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran. If you've ever wondered what Tina Fey would sound like if she were drunk, potty-mouthed, and British, Moran is the author for you. She's honest, feminist, and completely engaging. I had some friends say they were shocked by her descriptions of stuff we all know about (Aunt Flo! Bras!). But I think she's just being authentic and awesome. This book made me laugh out loud.
Whew!
My towering pile of "to-read" books isn't nearly tall enough to cause serious injury. What books do you suggest I add to it?
Psst ... when you click through my links, Amazon throws some spare change my way. This enables me to pay my library fines, stay out of library jail, and keep entertaining you with my hard-hitting literary and cinematic criticism.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Cha Cha's 2013 Movie Awards. Now with more hair!
Do you enjoy viewing the motion pictures?
I do. And so, even though I'm a little late, here are my favorites from 2013.
Best Movie Starring a Comb-Over
American Hustle. Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Jennifer Lawrence, and Bradley Cooper are all at the top of their games. However, Bale's uh-MAY-zing comb-over truly takes the cake. I really enjoyed this raucous movie. Plus, it gets extra points for Lawrence's energetic performance as a crazypants but actually sane woman.
Movie That Made Me Want to Hot-Roll My Hair
American Hustle. See above.
Best Documentary
If you haven't seen 20 Feet from Stardom, run out right now and get it - especially if you like music at all. This great film interviews back-up singers, and examines the huge distance between the back-up stand and the front of the stage. I still want to be a back-up singer for Earth, Wind & Fire, but this movie gave me a greater appreciation for the craft, and also the history of "girl singers." Loooooved it.
Movie That Made Me Want to Back-Comb My Hair
20 Feet From Stardom. See above.
Best Quiet Movie That You'll Love if You Liked Juno or Adventureland
The Way, Way Back. Being 14 suuuuucks. And it especially sucks if Steve Carell is your mom's asshole boyfriend. This lovely little movie captures the yearning and embarrassment and, ultimately, hope in being the awkward kid. Also, extra credit for Allison Janney, who is perfect in everything.
Movie That Made Me Want to Wear Scarves in My Hair
The Way Way Back. See above.
Best Movie That Surprised Me
This Is The End. This was a flick selected by the husband, and my expectations were low. Real low. But how many movies have fart jokes and make you seriously consider the afterlife? I was surprised by how vested I got in these characters. Plus, it's funny.
Movie That Had No Impact on My Hair Decisions Because it Features All Dudes
This Is The End. See above.
Best Use of Robert De Niro in Plaid Pants
Silver Linings Playbook. I've had multiple folks tell me, "Eww, I don't want to see a movie about mental illness." But this gem is so much more - the mental illness is just a tiny part of a very uplifting film. And De Niro in a turtleneck and plaid pants? Well, I just wanted to kiss the costumers. Those pants were perfect for the character.
Movie That Made Me Want to Wear Plaid Pants Because a Girl Can Only Mess With Her Hair So Much
Silver Linings Playbook. See above.
What movies did you find memorable in the last year?
Psst ... when you click through my links, Amazon throws some spare change my way. This enables me to pay my library fines, stay out of library jail, and keep entertaining you with my hard-hitting literary and cinematic criticism.
I do. And so, even though I'm a little late, here are my favorites from 2013.
Best Movie Starring a Comb-Over
American Hustle. Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Jennifer Lawrence, and Bradley Cooper are all at the top of their games. However, Bale's uh-MAY-zing comb-over truly takes the cake. I really enjoyed this raucous movie. Plus, it gets extra points for Lawrence's energetic performance as a crazypants but actually sane woman.
Movie That Made Me Want to Hot-Roll My Hair
American Hustle. See above.
Best Documentary
If you haven't seen 20 Feet from Stardom, run out right now and get it - especially if you like music at all. This great film interviews back-up singers, and examines the huge distance between the back-up stand and the front of the stage. I still want to be a back-up singer for Earth, Wind & Fire, but this movie gave me a greater appreciation for the craft, and also the history of "girl singers." Loooooved it.
Movie That Made Me Want to Back-Comb My Hair
20 Feet From Stardom. See above.
Best Quiet Movie That You'll Love if You Liked Juno or Adventureland
The Way, Way Back. Being 14 suuuuucks. And it especially sucks if Steve Carell is your mom's asshole boyfriend. This lovely little movie captures the yearning and embarrassment and, ultimately, hope in being the awkward kid. Also, extra credit for Allison Janney, who is perfect in everything.
Movie That Made Me Want to Wear Scarves in My Hair
The Way Way Back. See above.
Best Movie That Surprised Me
This Is The End. This was a flick selected by the husband, and my expectations were low. Real low. But how many movies have fart jokes and make you seriously consider the afterlife? I was surprised by how vested I got in these characters. Plus, it's funny.
Movie That Had No Impact on My Hair Decisions Because it Features All Dudes
This Is The End. See above.
Best Use of Robert De Niro in Plaid Pants
Silver Linings Playbook. I've had multiple folks tell me, "Eww, I don't want to see a movie about mental illness." But this gem is so much more - the mental illness is just a tiny part of a very uplifting film. And De Niro in a turtleneck and plaid pants? Well, I just wanted to kiss the costumers. Those pants were perfect for the character.
Movie That Made Me Want to Wear Plaid Pants Because a Girl Can Only Mess With Her Hair So Much
Silver Linings Playbook. See above.
What movies did you find memorable in the last year?
Psst ... when you click through my links, Amazon throws some spare change my way. This enables me to pay my library fines, stay out of library jail, and keep entertaining you with my hard-hitting literary and cinematic criticism.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Maybe messing with your meds over the holidays isn't a great idea.
I had a super-awesome idea in mid-November. Things were going great, and I kind of decided to see what would happen if I went halvesies with my anti-depressant.
Yeah, I did this on my own. No, I wouldn't recommend it.
Everything was shiny and great until My Life Partner Zoloft really got outta my system. Then, everything was hard. Except I'm so dumb that I didn't make the connection. I just thought, "Oh, the holidays are really stressful. Oh, everybody feels like they have a hoarder's filing cabinet on their chest all the time. Oh, it's totally normal to see trouble finishing a quilt for a Christmas gift as a reflection of your complete inadequacy as a human being."
Sigh.
This is why I haven't been blogging much. I've been wondering why the hell everything has been so difficult. And then I realized that duh, maybe I shouldn't have cut back on the Zoloft, even if I feel like I must be 87 years old because I take a bunch of prescription meds. And then I got more Zoloft, and started to feel better, and here we are.
I've been on an anti-depressant since 2008. I kind of hate it. But I like it way better than how I feel without it. I've never considered myself a depressed person, but in retrospect? It's not normal to have periods where you make peace with letting all your plants die because you just can't face watering them. Actually, "making peace" is too active ... it was more "feigning benign acceptance."
Whatever it was, it wasn't fun, and it wasn't healthy.
So, My Life Partner Zoloft and I are reunited, and it feels so OK.
I did manage to kvetch about jewelry store holiday ads here. And if it's 1 thing a new year is good for, it's positive intent. So, my intent is to get back in the writing saddle. Even though I have a general dislike of horses that is more "hate" than "feigned benign acceptance."
But writing. Yeah. I'll do that.
Yeah, I did this on my own. No, I wouldn't recommend it.
Everything was shiny and great until My Life Partner Zoloft really got outta my system. Then, everything was hard. Except I'm so dumb that I didn't make the connection. I just thought, "Oh, the holidays are really stressful. Oh, everybody feels like they have a hoarder's filing cabinet on their chest all the time. Oh, it's totally normal to see trouble finishing a quilt for a Christmas gift as a reflection of your complete inadequacy as a human being."
Sigh.
This is why I haven't been blogging much. I've been wondering why the hell everything has been so difficult. And then I realized that duh, maybe I shouldn't have cut back on the Zoloft, even if I feel like I must be 87 years old because I take a bunch of prescription meds. And then I got more Zoloft, and started to feel better, and here we are.
I've been on an anti-depressant since 2008. I kind of hate it. But I like it way better than how I feel without it. I've never considered myself a depressed person, but in retrospect? It's not normal to have periods where you make peace with letting all your plants die because you just can't face watering them. Actually, "making peace" is too active ... it was more "feigning benign acceptance."
Whatever it was, it wasn't fun, and it wasn't healthy.
So, My Life Partner Zoloft and I are reunited, and it feels so OK.
I did manage to kvetch about jewelry store holiday ads here. And if it's 1 thing a new year is good for, it's positive intent. So, my intent is to get back in the writing saddle. Even though I have a general dislike of horses that is more "hate" than "feigned benign acceptance."
But writing. Yeah. I'll do that.
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