But generally not to fellow humans. At least. Usually you shouldn’t say them to strangers. I guess? Me: Watching the cats eat in the hallway, standing near Isis’ bowl, because the other cats tend to inhale their food then just push her out of the way and eat hers. Crinkles… Read More »Things You Can Say to Cats
Angels are often not after the business of bears you see. They are busy creatures going to and fro, flitting here and there and trumpeting things or announcing this and that. Very important people, angels are, and they never stop. Always so happy and always so go-get, swooping and singing… Read More »The Angel and the Bear
When I was 12, I cried because I was too chubby to fit into a thrift store dress. It was for a Halloween school dance. I wanted to be a princess. When I tried it on at home during the last minute, my mother couldn’t find a way to make… Read More »Beauty & The (Beast) Bulletjournal
Hurricane Dorian made my butt clench in anxiety, I am not going to lie. Florida was a little messed up during the week up to the hurricane which ended up being not much more than a tropical storm with a few droplets of rain–making life here inconvenient. The worst thing… Read More »Hurricane Dorian and Cat Food: a stinky tale.
If there is anything I can say about myself with 100% certainty 100% of the time, it would be that I am always trying. Sometimes, I’m trying new things. Sometimes I am trying more new things. Other times, I am trying to exist or trying to be a better person… Read More »Yes. That is my face, and other life updates.
You’d think after reading these entries over the years that there was absolutely no hope for me to get my shit together. I’ve never been an organized person. Not once. Not ever, never. Getting diagnosed with BP II and depression officially helped to sort of understand why I was a… Read More »Why a Bullet Journal was perfect for this Hot Mess Brain
When I was 16, I was terrible. Not only was I going through what any teen at that age goes through–hormones, boys, body image issues, self-esteem problems, trying to fit in desperately where I didn’t–I probably had the beginnings of my depression and bipolar II crop up. I didn’t know… Read More »What’s in a tooth?
So floating around on the internet in various wording, is a quote that I thought was neat and nifty but didn’t really hit me in the face until early this month (July, 2019 for those of you unsure of when I wrote this. As sometimes I am unsure of when… Read More »That bullshit about it never being too late to follow dreams? Yeah. It’s kinda true.
Living with chronic illness; be it physical or mental takes a ridiculously gross toll on everything in your life. There’s no “quick fix,” to being empty of even the energy to wash your own face in the morning, let alone clean your home like “normal” people do. (Please imagine my hugely sarcastic, eye rolling finger quotes being made in the air as I say normal. ) Cleaning during depression can be like climbing a mountain naked armed with a pencil and a pack of stickers. Medication is great, but it’s never an end all, be all, cure all. There will be days where your shit will simply not get together, personal hygiene becomes an afterthought, dishes pile in the sink, never or barely rinsed, and you’re pretty sure the clothes on the floor in your room have become sentient. It’s overwhelming to look around you and see your home reflect the state of your mental, emotional and physical shambles—and knowing you should care, and you should do something; but you just can’t drum up enough feeling to do anything than feel miserable and not caring. And then that sends you on a lovely guilt spiral that makes you want to do anything even less. And the cleaning never happens.
So how do you even start cleaning during depression?
I haven’t worked in 15 years. I am grateful to have been so lucky as to get a retail job within the first week of girding my fat, anxious, bi-polar diagnosed loins and handing out resumes the old fashioned way. (Store to store in person.) But, wow. Wow. In the past months… Read More »Retail at 40: Fantasizing About Strangling Balloons, a Rant.