Yeehaw, motherfuckers!

"'For some people,' she explained, 'happiness isn't a choice. You wanting to be happy and expecting it to just happen is the equivalent of someone with brown eyes wanting blue eyes and expecting that to just happen.' 

The sadness that comes from depression is not rooted in anything real. I'm not sad because of anyone or anything. I don't know why I am sad. I just am. I don't know why I worry about things that are so far out of my control. I just do.  And I so wish that I didn't.  

Most people who don't believe in depression also don't believe in being medicated for it...Instead of drugs, they'd say, why don't you "do more of the things that you enjoy?" 

"Tend to your garden."

"Find a project, something to focus your attention on." 

"Read, 'The Secret.' "

Bite me.

These patronizing ("The Secret"? Are you serious?) prescriptions infuriated me, as if the reason I wasn't happy is because I hadn't tried hard enough."

An Optimist's Battle With Depression

Stephanie Gallman

Darn that sweater!

Literally. It's my first foray into darning something. I think I have the concept down, but I definitely needed to have left the thread a little looser. Oh well. I bet Betsy Ross sewed a few threads too tightly and we still put that piece of work on display.

Another hole. Apparently my left elbow
is incredibly pointy.

Beginning the process.

Weave and weave.

Done.

They're like belly buttons - everyone has one.

"A friend once told me: She said that every single one of us at birth is given an emotional acre all our own. You get one, your awful Uncle Phil gets one, I get one, Tricia Nixon gets one, everyone gets one.  And as long as you don’t hurt anyone, you really get to do with your acre as you please. You can plant fruit trees or flowers or alphabetized rows of vegetables, or nothing at all.  If you want your acre to look like a giant garage sale, or an auto-wrecking yard, that’s what you get to do with it.  There’s a fence around your acre, though, with a gate, and if people keep coming onto your land and sliming it or trying to get you to do what they think is right, you get to ask them to leave.  And they have to go, because this is your acre.”

Anne Lamott

Bird by Bird

A great theologian, but doesn't care much for God.

It's taken awhile to get used to it, but I'm starting to like my room.

It pretty much only looks like
this for about half a day
on the weekends.

It mostly looks like this.

Westside walk it out

Jill and I took Huck and Emmy to Discovery Park to explore some unknown terrain. We wear North Face jackets, so of course we go on many excellent adventures. Actually, I think my jacket was from Target and Jill's was Arcteryx. I'm not sure what that says about us, except that maybe I'm less adventurous than I think...Anyhow, the park was beautiful.

Over the woods and through the...woods

The Puget Sound

Magnolia Bluff and the Puget Sound

:)

Sew fun!!

Yes, it's a really bad pun. But I've discovered the funs of sewing and I just can't hide it. J-pants and I spent an entire weekend sewing: she made me a kick-ass apron, and I sewed us pillowcases (I'm still working on sewing in straight lines). Martha Stewart for the win.

Moscato makes everything better

Our pillowcases!

These made Lila's pillowcase

What? Homemade fried mozzarella balls?
How did this picture get in there???

I was hideous until this apron.

Most fun.

Blankets (because everyone needs a transitional object)

Well, most people do, at least at some point in their lives. A transitional object (for those who aren't psychologists or didn't take Dr. Walker's Theology & Philosophy class) is a tangible object that provides emotional support during any given situation, the stereotypical security blanket or stuffed animal for a child. It makes that person feel safe and grounded when things might not be safe (or grounded).

Yes, I'm falling off
the bed while sleeping.
But I still have Smoothie!

I have one very old, very transitional object. His name is Smoothie, and he used to be my grandfather's old Hawaiian shirt. I'm told I stole the shirt when I was 2 or 3, and I've been carrying bits of Smoothie around with me ever since. My mom carried pieces of him in her purse, I remember holding him in my lap during church, and I can count on one hand the number of nights I've slept without him. Two years ago, my parents gave me the biggest piece of Smoothie left; I'm already preparing myself for the day when Smoothie finally dies and I have to replace him (because let's be honest, giving up Smoothie is not an option). I nearly always have Smoothie with me, and I've been known to tear rooms apart searching for him.

But I've also realized that Smoothie is part of a wider category of transitional objects: blankets. There's something soothing about the weight of them, something calming about the protection they provide. I have about a dozen different blankets just between my bed and the couch, a variety of quilts, throws, and comforters (and one electric blanket I got this year for Christmas. I don't know why I haven't owned one sooner!). I stopped sleeping with a flat sheet a few years ago because my feet were claustrophobic, and I switched to sleeping with just my not-actual-down comforter. This snowballed when I moved to Atlanta and experienced a really cold winter. I simply stacked blanket upon blanket upon blanket, and suddenly I was the blanket lady. I'm okay with it; I feel safe and warm and snuggly when I'm wrapped up in them, and I like to be safe and warm and snuggly. Among my favorites are a quilt my sister sewed for me, a rag quilt my bff and I made, this heavy, nubbly knitted (or crocheted? I have no clue...I think knitted) thing my aunt made me, and a fantastically soft fleece blanket my boss gave me for Christmas. There's also this old, old, old, old blanket I used to take naps with at my grandma's house. I slept with it for years and it started to fall apart. It's currently in the To Be Fixed pile, which reminds me that I need to fix it (i.e. ask my mom to do it).

So blankets. Besides actually sleeping, they're my favorite part of naps and night times. I'm confident they have magical healing powers similar to the strength of a unicorn's mane. Or Jesus' beard.