Where Are My Priorities?

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

~Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken~

Life is full of tough choices. I know that. Part of being an adult is making those choices and doing the best you can.

Right now, I have a choice to make. I don't have to make it today, I don't have to make it tomorrow, but sometime over the next week, I have to choose which path to take.

And I have no idea which way to go.

I have made no secret of the fact that my job is a pain in my butt. I don't like my boss. I don't like the actual job duties. I don't even really like the clients I work with. They are too young for me. I prefer senior citizens. (not that I don't like my guys, it's just a preference thing. Some folks like working with kids, some adults, some seniors. Some of us prefer high physical care, some of us prefer to put more effort into the behavioral side of things.)

Two times a week, I end up staying awake 30 hours plus. It's not necessarily the job's fault, it's just the way things work out. Obviously, this is a terribly unhealthy way to live. I have been doing it for almost 7 years, and I can feel myself getting stupider and stupider every day. See? Stupider isn't even a word, but I'm gonna use it to prove how stupid the lack of sleep is really making me. (well, spellcheck says stupider is a word. How 'bout that?)

Pretty much, I get nothing out of my job except a paycheck.

I know that if I were to be able to have some kind of routine in my life, and get sleep every night instead of 3-4 nights out of a week, I would be much healthier. I would feel smarter. I would be more efficient. I would be able to establish routines in other parts of my life, and those routines would benefit everyone in my family.

I was offered a job today. Full time work, regular sleep hours, and much easier work than I do now. The pay is about the same.

Sounds like heaven, right?

The problem is, it's a job working with Teacher full time. I would be self-employed, for all intents and purposes. This means a loss of vacation time, sick time, benefits, retirement, etc. And I would have to put Little Sprout in Daycare two days a week, meaning more of my wage would be lost in paying that. And there is no job security. Teacher is 100 years old, and so my time working with her is limited. Very limited.

It would work, but $$ would be tight. Mr. Barefoot and I have struggled with finances all our adult lives, and just now are getting to a point where we can sock a little bit away out of every check. Only in the last few months have we had any financial breathing room, and we are both loving it.

So what do I do? On the one hand, the job I have now is secure. It pays the bills, with a little left over. It is also killing me. On the other hand, I could have a position that meets all my needs as far as health is concerned (as well as being a whole bunch of fun), but would put the family back into a place where the tiniest unexpected expense could put us in financial trouble.

Sometimes, being a grown-up sucks.

Stumbling Blocks and Steps in the Right Direction

Shortly after writing my last post, I learned that a dear young gal I know (and would even call a friend, but don't tell anyone) had just found out that her 3 yr old son has a brain tumor. It's cancer. The doc's aren't hopeful.

It threw me for a loop, to say the least.

I spent days trying to figure out how to deal with the situation. Not what could I do, just how could I cope. While fighting to convince myself that the world is not the miserably warped, dark place that I usually think it is, I was given proof that good does not always prevail. While trying to believe that there are rewards for good behavior, it was being proven that you can do everything right and still suffer.

There aren't any answers, but I had to try.

I have done a few things right, though. I cleaned the house. I visited an old friend (which was harder than I could have imagined). Today I cleaned out the gardens.

There are other things in the works, as well, but I hesitate to talk about them. I don't want to jinx anything by speaking too soon.... Don't worry, y'all will know every dark little secret in this Barefoot Brain before long....

~ and that's all I have to say about that~

I've Lost My Way

Sometimes, I wake up and realise that I have wandered off the path. I can see where I want to be, but it is so far off. There is a wilderness of dangers between here and there, and I doubt my courage. I doubt my strength. I wonder if it is even worth it to fight my way back.

I know that here is a bad place. It is scary, and dark. I know that I will not be able to survive here very long. But here is, in a way, easy. This is where I am pulled, as if by a magnetic force. Every time I stop fighting to stay there, I somehow slide over to here. Or maybe here sneaks up and surrounds me when I stop chasing after there. I haven't actually watched the transition happen, so I am not quite sure what happens when I am not looking.

Here doesn't take any effort, because nothing matters here. Here steals your loves, your hates, your passions. Here steals your desires, your fears, dreams. Yet it gives one amazing gift. Nothingness. Numbness. Apathy.

Over there, things matter. Over there, I care. Over there, I work hard. I work hard, not just at the things that matter when I am there, but also at just staying there. When I am there, I worry about doing right, about doing my best, about making things work. Over there I plan for the future, I dream beautiful dreams, I suffer crushing disappointments. There is where people live.

I don't think that there is my place. If I was meant to be there - where things are beautiful and ugly and loud and quiet and soft and rough - rather than here - where everything is muffled and grey - I don't believe it would be so hard to stay there. I think maybe there doesn't want me. Here does. Here follows me, embraces me, even stalks me in a totally creepy way.

I know the way back. I am even pretty sure I have the strength to get there. It just seems like so much work to get there, only to have to fight to stay there. Wouldn't it be smarter to stay here? It seems like such a futile effort to keep fighting to be there, only to be constantly pulled back here.

I am planning one more escape from here. I know it is what I am supposed to do. Maybe somewhere along the way, I will find some enthusiasm for the journey, but right now I am looking at the long road ahead of me with nothing stronger than resignation. I don't see the point. I have lost faith that I will ever be able to stay there, so all the effort I am planning on putting into getting there seems like a big waste.

I am going to try.

Trouble Adjusting

We have been back from CA for a week and a half, now, and I am still having trouble adjusting to being home.

Vacations are supposed to refresh you. You are supposed to return from a good vacation (and it was wonderful) feeling recharged and ready to take on life. Instead I feel.... disjointed. Everything is familiar and safe and special, but the actual pace of life seems just a little beyond me.

My garden is in shambles, and the weather hasn't been conducive to working out in the yard. Everything here is the same, and so am I.

With this inability to re-adjust to home life has come a wave of terrible depression. I want to "get it in gear", but the gears seem to be slipping.



I will keep trying. I seem to be incapable of giving up, so I will just keep on keepin' on. Eventually, something will happen to break this spell of blah that I just happen to be under.

Eventually.

Until then, lets all go out and wiggle our bare toes in the mud. I always did kinda like that feeling....

A Milestone

Today I took Little Sprout on an excursion to the Como Zoo and Conservatory. We went, not because it was a beautiful day and I thought it would be fun (as true as that might be), but because I had reconnected with an old friend through Facebook who also has small children, and we had set a playdate. It was to be the first time we spent time together since the 9th grade.

I have talked and talked about my depression, my anxiety, and my hermit-like behaviors. What all that blather means in real-world talk is that leaving my home - my sanctuary - without the benefit of meds or the safety blanket of my husband or parents to meet up with someone who (regardless of any history we have together) is a virtual stranger.... well, it was terrifying. Not just a little scary, not something that made me just a little nervous... terrifying.

I was going to be in a strange place. I had to get there on my own. There were going to be all sorts of people there I didn't know. What if I said something stupid? What if she did? What if we didn't talk at all? What if I got lost? What if I didn't? What if Little Sprout threw fits? What if she did something more embarrassing than that? What if.... what if.... what if????

Yeah, I got that it sounds rather stupid. You really have to be inside my head to have it make sense, and sometimes even then it is baffling. That doesn't make it any less real, though.

So I got up this morning and had myself a nice little anxiety attack. I didn't know what to wear (since my uniform of sweatpants and a grubby T-shirt were out), I couldn't get Little Sprout to cooperate with things, I couldn't find the cooler I wanted for bringing our picnic stuff.... Oh, it was fun!

Then came the drive down there. We got started late, thanks to Little Sprout's constant worrying about her clothing and accessories (c'mon child! Noone cares which shoes you wear!) and general foot-dragging. Then I missed my turn on the way down there, causing us to be just a tad bit later.

I was not a happy camper by the time we pulled into the parking lot 15 minutes late. To start with, I hate being late. Really, really hate it. On top of that, I was flustered, I was scared, I was just all in all done with the whole thing.

Then the funniest thing happened.

I took a deep breath and walked into the visitor center. We met up with my old friend. The two 3 yr olds took off to look around, and the mothers chased after the kids.

And everything was okay.

I had fun. I really, really had fun! I didn't do anything terribly embarrassing, my friend was fun to talk to. We wandered around the zoo, looking at the animals. We wandered through the conservatory, looking at flowers. We talked. It felt.....normal. The girls got along great, and the baby even let me hold his hand (little littles usually don't like me much) while he walked along. We laughed, we got caught up, we generally enjoyed the day.

Today, I realised that I can get out and socialise. I discovered that I don't necessarily need my meds to overcome my issues. I finally figured out that I don't have to let my anxiety be a prison.

Most of all, I just enjoyed myself.

Being a Hermit

I always wanted to be a hermit. Some of my favorite folks from literature and TV lived in the wild, far from the craziness of society. I had this image in my head of being a "grown up", all scrawny and leathery from too much sun, wearing overalls and a flannel shirt as I foraged through the forest for mushrooms and wild berries. I imagined myself having a one room cabin in the woods, with a small garden and a smokehouse in back. I thought about how wonderful it would be to make my own pemmican and jerky, to wander the wild areas left in the world barefoot and wild. I would spend hours imagining lazy days spent fishing (cuz smoked fish is DA BOMB!), and learning the ways of the creatures that lived closest to me.

*sigh* I guess I never really grew out of that dream.

Funny thing, the depression and anxiety have made me a different type of hermit. Sometimes I get caught up in wondering which came first. Was I a child with a romantic dream that was turned into a nightmare by a chemical imbalance? Or was I always terribly fearful of people, and that was the child's way of making it okay?

I suppose it doesn't matter. I value practicality, and wondering about such things is hardly practical. I am what I am, and though understanding how I got this way is important to understanding myself, what I do with who and what I am is more important to my future.

Without my meds, I am most content alone here in my little bubble I have created at Barefoot Manor. I fuss in the gardens, watching carefully for the first leaves to open to the spring sun or carefully pulling mulch back and looking for the first spikes of green from my perennials. I fight with the Sprouts, trying to get Big Sprout to do her chores and dealing with Little Sprout's temper tantrums. I go to work, but the idle chatter that the girls indulge in seems so trivial. So I retreat.

Sometimes I think about going back on my meds. I think about how much easier life is when I am medicated. But then I think that life shouldn't be easy. We value things that are hard-won, and every small pleasure is a victory when you are fighting the demons of fear and sadness.

So I think I will continue on the way I am for a while. I have so many things to be grateful for. I have the dreams of my just-begun garden. I have a freezer full of good, local meat. I have a family that is healthy and wonderful and loving. What more do I need? Being a bit of a hermit may be unusual, but it is far from bad.

The Rage

I woke with my Rage riding my back, clouding my vision, and filling my ears with the poison that is it's own particular brand of evil.

The house is a pit. Partly my fault, partly Mr. Barefoot and the sprouts' fault. But I can't stand it. And I am furious. I try to clean, and Little Sprout is underfoot wanting to play in the mop water or stealing the broom and dustpan. Spiderwebs hang low on the basement ceiling. I try to clean them up, and their clinging strands fall on my exposed arms. I scream like a girl and spend 20 minutes scrubbing the memory of them off my skin.

It is not a good day, no matter how much I try to breathe and be calm.

I look around at all the crap we have, and I want to rent a dumpster and just toss all of it. Every last memento of things we have done, every last piece of our past lives. I don't want them. I want the house to be the way it was when we moved in: full of possibilities, and not much else.


I think about going to work tonight, and the Rage whispers in my ear that I should just call and quit rather than go in for a 2 hour meeting that will accomplish the same as all the others before it: nothing. Reasoning with the Rage is useless, so I do my best to ignore it, reminding myself that poor wages are better than none, and that once I get through school I will be able to at least make enough moolah to make up for the inconvenience of working outside the home. Sometimes I believe what I tell myself, sometimes I don't.

Just thought y'all would like to know....

Depression Strikes Again

I can feel it happening. The tightness around my chest, the uneasiness in my stomach, the aches in every joint. That isn't the worst of it. The feeling of needing to cocoon myself in silence and solitude, the resentment towards anyone who breaks that silence, the desperate fear/rage when I am forced to abandon the solitude.

This is not a bad bout....so far. I am able to fake interest in things, to hold my irritation in check when the Sprouts interrupt my inner dialogue. I observe the pain and misery, but am able to understand that it is NOT me. I am thankful that the pain hasn't overwhelmed my sense of self. When it does, things get really bad.

I think the rain has something to do with it. Rain for the second day in a row, and though I (as a gardener) am grateful for the moisture, the grey skies seem dreary and the constant hissing of rain on the leaves lulls me into a stupor.

I know that the sameness of every day has something to do with it. I go to work to cook and clean, then come home to more of the same. Day in and day out, there is no change. It makes me tired. Mentally, if not physically. It seems that my 'weekend' is never enough to recharge me fully.

I wish there was a magic pill that would cure this, once and for all. I don't like the thought of dealing with recurrences of this feeling for the rest of my life. I want to fix it and just be done with the whole thing, put it behind me.

Still, like I said, this isn't a terribly bad bout of depression. So I will clean the house, and care for the Sprouts, and do what I can to muscle through. Soon I will have a few days off work, and we have planned a family outing. Perhaps that will be enough to get me out of this funk.

Like Dory (from Finding Nemo) said: "Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming."

Time Marches On

Here it is, July. The year is over half gone, and I feel as if I have been missing it. Except for those few bright days I took off from work while Mr. Barefoot was in CA, I have been wandering around in a fog.

Depression kinda sucks that way.

I feel a helpless sort of frustration. I know that there are so many things I want to be doing right now. I know that if I do them, I will feel better. Doing it, however, seems to be just out of my reach. Not that I am giving up on trying. Every time I lay down to catch a few hours of sleep, I vow to myself that when I wake I will shake off this sense of numbness and inertia. I just never seem to wake up with the juice to get it done.

Dishes are piling up, Mr. Barefoot did the laundry. Weeds are growing, and my peas crapped out on me earlier than they ever have before. The broccoli is doing well....it is sweet this year. I feel a frantic sense of hurry, hurry underneath the terrible lethargy that has me in its grip. The days of summer are slipping away, and I am wasting them fighting a stupid illness that has no business existing at all. The crappy economy has crept a little closer to our lives, and is beginning to effect life in Barefoot Manor more deeply. I feel like time is running out.

Like I said, depression sucks that way.

On the other hand~

I am going to be okay. I know this because I have always been okay, and I am a tough little scrapper when I need to be. Cheesecake is on the menu, and chocolate is chilling in the fridge. Things will be fine.

I look forward to spending some time in the cool shade, weeding my flower beds that are horribly overgrown right now. It will soothe me, I am sure. Tomorrow night, I will have the most rare gifts ever given to a mother: an evening in the house alone. No children, no husband, no need to do anything but soak up the silence.

It will be wonderful. I will not feel guilty as I watch Big Sprout mope around the house, suffering from the summer 'blahs'. I will not feel hounded by Little Sprout's constant bids for attention. I will not feel torn by the two of them fighting over who gets more of my love. I will be free to breathe.

The best part is that in a week or so I will look back at this post and wonder what in the world was so important that it drove me to feel this way. I will feel a little disgust at my own weakness, and a little embarrassment that I even posted this, and life will go on.

This, too, shall pass....

Springtime Paralysis

I don't know what's wrong with me. Spring is here, there is so much to do and so many things to enjoy....why is it that I just don't really want to do ANYTHING?!

It isn't just a feeling of laziness, either. I am defiantly lazy. I get angry just thinking about all the things I have to think about and ultimately do.

What the heck?

It is like some giant demonic vacuum came along and sucked all the joy and energy right out of my life.

I don't get it

One Day at a Time

That's the way I am taking it right now. It seems that a whole mess of issues that need attention RIGHT NOW have shown up on the doorstep here at Barefoot Manor along with spring. I had the bad taste to let myself get sick for a few days, and chores piled up something aweful. I am trying to deal with the insurance company over the car accident (a major stress inducing activity), and Mr. Barefoot is with the band all the freakin' time (new members and an important gig coming up).

Sorry I don't have anything more interesting to say, but I am just a hair overwhelmed right now.

Hangin' On....I Think

It was hubris that started it. I have been spending entirely too much time congratulating myself on how well I handled this past winter. It is always hard for me to function normally when it is cold and dark. Looking back over the last few years, I can see it in my blog posts and journal entries. I get cranky, I get depressed, I get lazy.

In short, I should just accept my limitations and hibernate during the winter months.

But this year was different, or so I thought. I was (kind of) keeping up on the housework. I had been exercising and trying to eat right. I was keeping up with blogging, and even managing to blog about things other than my miserable attitude. I started to believe that I might be getting better. I might be getting strong enough to handle the seasonal darkness. I got proud.

Then we got hit with The Endless Winter.

I am starting to believe that we must be entering another ice age, and that the warm weather will never come back. The memory of spring has been lost in the white-wash of snow that JUST. KEEPS. COMING.

Yup, I have several inches of snow in my yard again, and I am turning into one unhappy woman.

So I am gonna concentrate on taking my meds and breathing. Cuz I am about ready to blow a gasket, here....

I Wish They Could Understand

Last night at work, I had a conversation with a staff member at work that bothered me a bit. Not because of the staff or what they said, but because it cause me to remember my darkest days. Just remembering brought so much back, and so much frustration at the years I lost to misery.

We somehow got on the subject of depression, and this person is of the group who don't really believe that medication for depression is appropriate. I can't even really blame this person for feeling the way they do. I think there are a lot of folks out there who think that a negative attitude and unwillingness to TRY to see the good things in life are the makings of depression. I have seen folks who are just selfish and want attention use depression as an excuse.

It's frustrating.

The thing is, it's nearly impossible to understand what real clinical depression is like if you have never experienced it.

And I so desperately want people to understand that it is not a lack of willpower or effort on my part that has caused my depression.

Before I was diagnosed, my life was hell. Literally. I knew about depression, but never once figured that it could apply to me and my life. I just figured that I wasn't understanding some basic life strategy that allowed the average human to wake up and feel that life was worth living. I tried everything. I changed my diet, I meditated, I used positive affirmations, I kept busy helping others so I couldn't focus on myself so much. Anything and everything that promised to give energy or balance emotions, I tried.

Nothing worked. Oh, some things helped a little. Some things helped a little more. But nothing got rid of the heaviness that weighed on me every waking moment of my life. Nothing cleared the fog that surrounded me and interfered with the way I saw and heard the things around me. I survived every day with willpower alone. There was no joy that touched me deep inside, no fun that could overcome the basic sense I had that life was one endless exercise in futility. The emotional pain was so intense that it manifested itself physically with chest and stomach pain. Sometimes I would think that if I could just cut out the parts of me that hurt, then life would be better.

Then, when things were really low for me, a doc put me on some meds. The worked a little. Then we changed the meds, and that worked a little better. We kept adjusting things until, one day, I looked up from my usual daily activities and realised that even though I had many worries and my life was in a troublesome place I had confidence that I would survive. I knew, deep down, that I would make it through the next day.

I hadn't been really sure of that for so long that I couldn't remember feeling any other way.

I think that is another misconception folks have about depression. Meds don't make everything all better. I still did therapy for quite a while to develop skills that would help me to cope with the daily difficulties that came up. I still feel sadness, grief, fear, disappointment....everything. It's just that now I can feel happiness, peace, contentment, and excitement as well.

Meds don't make you happy, they take away the wall that is blocking you from feeling your true feelings. Depression is a false sense of misery that invades every breath you take and every experience you have. The bottom line is, though, that it is a FALSE feeling. It is not based on anything real. It is just a feeling that, no matter how hard you pray, meditate, or think positively, will not go away.

Gosh, that still doesn't make sense. I so DESPERATELY want to be able to articulate what depression is so that folks who have never felt it could understand. I suppose it is a lot like Motherhood. I remember mothers telling me that there is no way to explain the love a mom feels for her child, and that I would just have to experience it for myself. I thought they were nuts until I had a child. Then I knew that there truly IS no way to convey the feeling of all-encompassing love that comes from having a child.

I suppose mothers might be able to understand depression, then. Remember that overwhelming love you feel for your children. You know the one, the one that sweeps through you and makes your heart feel as if it is going to just burst right through your chest because the love you feel is so big that it is unimaginable that it could be contained by one human. Now imagine that feeling has turned to sadness, fear, hopelessness, and helplessness. It influences every action you take in the same way that loving your children affects everything you do. And it never goes away.

I don't know. Maybe the next thing I will have to work on is getting over my need to have folks believe that I am not some med-seeking attention hound regarding my depression. Or maybe I should write a book, explaining it to folks so they CAN understand.

Whadda YOU think?

Crappy Coupla Days

I am miffed that I may not have enough sun to get my veggies producing next year. I need to find out how much $$ some tree removal is gonna cost me....

Been having bad dreams.....

Sick with a nasty cold.....

Feel like I could sleep for a week......

I hope tomorrow is better.....

The Good News and The Bad News

Yeah, remember that we are trying to buy a house? What a mess, let me tell you.



The bank-hag must have had a great time on her vacation, 'cause when she got back she decided that fixing the roof and the plumbing leak was just a FINE idea. I am so excited. Really, that will save us many $$.

Bad news? Evidently she wants us to put off the closing until.......

wait for it.....

AUGUST 15TH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, that woman had a few too many Mai Tai's on her lovely little vacation. Has she forgotten that we were supposed to close LAST month?


K, just in case any of you lovely readers have forgotten.....I am a nut-job, remember? Lots of mental/emotional issues that require me to imbibe a multicolored array of pharmaceuticals to keep me functioning semi-normally. Or at least keep me from setting my hair on fire and running naked through the streets.

So how do you think it has been affecting me to have my ENTIRE LIFE up in the air? Hmmmm?! Guess what? It ain't pretty! I am losing my mind, here, and I really don't know how worth it a new roof and a fixed plumbing leak really are.

Here I am, half packed, and they want me to wait over a month like this? Do they figure that I can just put my life on hold and wait for them to do their thing?

Ugh.

So Mr. Barefoot came back with the idea that we could close on the 1st of Aug. Better, but not great. I just don't know, man. I want the roof fixed, but this is getting a little crazy here. I mean, really crazy. We told our building manager we would be out of the apt July 31st. Now of course we have worked it so that we can stay through August, but I wanna have TIME to move. I hate moving all at once like that.

AND the house needs paint and a thorough cleaning. The folks left it in a bit of a mess, so there needs to be some serious cleaning up done.

Double ugh.

It Ain't Easy, Being Cheezy...

It has been a rough little period for me lately. I am not sure what is wrong, I just know that something is. My poor mother has been plagued with me calling "can I come over with the kids?" or "will you come over here and keep me company?" just about every day, and I am sure she is sick of it.

Thanks, Mom, for being the best.

Most of my problem, I am sure, is one of attitude. I work hard, and I work long....but it is working towards something that is very important to me. I want to be debt free, and I want to own my own home. Pretty humble dreams, but they are mine. I should be happy that I can work this hard to make my dream come true. I should be content that there is work for me and I have the ability to work this hard for my dreams. I should be satisfied with the progress made and that should give me motivation to keep pushing towards the finish line.

So why can't I be happy about it? Even cheesecake isn't helping. Not even Turtle Cheesecake.

That is bad, folks. Turtle Cheesecake fixes everything.

Ah, well. It is late, and I am tired (I think 5 hrs sleep since Tues. morning). Perhaps after some sleep I will feel a little more optimistic. Perhaps after work tomorrow I will feel like puttering out in the dirt, and that will fix me up. Perhaps Mr. Barefoot will call me with the news that we have won the lottery and I can work for fun from now on.

And, yes, the sky is blue in my world.

I do, dear friends, promise you this: My next post will be depression and whine free. I just gotta figure out what to say.

I'm Doing Good!

I have this major issue with making phone calls. I hate it. I can call my folks or a friend just to find out what the plans are for an outing and stuff, but making serious phone-calls makes me so nervous I could puke.

Today I made two, count 'em TWO, major phone calls that needed to made and that I have been dreading. I am so proud of myself I could just burst.

I am trying really hard to do this thing my therapist once suggested where I just do the things that scare me the most in the hopes that it will make me immune to the fear. Ummm, yeah. I have been working on it for about 3 years now, and I still haven't noticed a change in how I feel before I do whatever it is I am supposed to do. On the up side, I still get the same amount of relief and happiness from accomplishing the task.

Alright....now to tackle the bills. I can do this!

Depression vs. SAD

Just one more, and then I promise to shut up on the subject for a while.

Today Dad and I took Little Sprout for a walk up to the post office. Dad said the round trip is just over 1/4 mile, and Little Sprout made it almost the whole way. Pretty good for someone whose legs are so little. She was giggling madly the whole way, and intent on exploring all the side roads and little things she saw lying on the sidewalk.

Amazingly, I feel about 100% better than I did this morning when I left work. It makes me wonder...how much of my "depression" is really seasonal? How much of my issue is the enforced confinement of MN winters? I can't believe how much just that little bit of fresh air lifted my spirits.

Basically, I have come to the conclusion that no matter what house we end up getting, I am going to have to make it a priority to have a greenhouse or a garden room of some kind. A place that I can keep green growing things throughout the winter months.

I have never really thought about it seriously before, because though I am a fair to decent gardener outside I seem to kill all houseplants unfortunate enough to come into contact with me.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if something so simple could "fix" me? It wouldn't even have to be anything elaborate, just a room big enough for me to stick a chair in and outfit with full spectrum lights and lots of potted plants. I could sit in there and do my needlepoint or read for a while every day and be normal.

It sounds too good to be true, but I am willing to try anything twice....

Only One More Month...

As you may have noticed, my depression has been getting worse and worse. I don't have the heart to blog very much, I don't have the heart to do anything.

But...

There is a ray of hope.

Looking at my blog posts from last year, I see that there is only a little over a month before things should start looking like spring around here. Traditionally, I perk up when the weather warms and I can spend much of my time with my hands in the dirt.

So I am counting the days, and hoping so desperately for buds on trees and green grass.

A Kick in the Teeth, I Say....

I admit it, I have been S-L-O-W in getting around to reading everyone's blogs. I also admit that I haven't been commenting as much. The truth is I have been really stressed and pretty thoroughly depressed. Since I don't want to bring everyone down I have been keeping my mouth shut much more than is natural for me. What can I say, I am thoughtful like that.

But really, to close your blog to the public and not invite me to the party?! I am hurt. You know who you are, too. There I was, all excited to check out what has been happening in your life, knowing that you of all people would understand the stress and misery that house-hunting with depression causes, and I can't come visit you. No goodbye, no song and dance about how you have some crazy stalker troll type person dogging you on your blog or you have decided to post naked pictures of yourself and don't want your mom to find it, just a door slammed in my face.

hmph.

Double hmph.

Sniff.