Life, lately.

It's been quite a while since I've written anything here, and while I do sit down occasionally, and think about posting, I typically find that I don't know what I want to say.

For the past four (almost five now) months I've been taking medication for my anxiety. It has helped, a lot actually, but I've also found that my personality on medication is quite different than off. Not in a bad way, nor in a multiple personality way, I'm still very much me, so to speak, I just find that my attention span is a great deal shorter, and that my interest in certain things has waned, while interest in other things has peaked.

One thing I have sort of rediscovered is my passion for photography. I've always loved it, but I like to take pictures outside, of nature, trees, abandoned buildings, and when I'm depressed I tend to stay inside and/or sleep all day so I don't get to do that as much. Lately, though, I've gotten back into the habit of taking my camera everywhere.

I've also found that while I still love crafting and sewing, I just can't sit through cutting out/sewing entire projects anymore. (Or at least not all at once - I have completed a couple of things, but they were stretched out over a few days.) I spend less time reading blogs, and I can't even remember the last time I looked at Pinterest. (That's a good thing, though!)

I feel better, mentally, and physically too - I recently joined a belly dancing class taught by a friends mom and it is so fun! Meeting new people, having something that is mine, a reason to get out of the house alone that doesn't involve shopping, I think, is really a huge part of rediscovering my identity, reconnecting with aspects of my self and personality that may have gotten lost throughout this long journey of depression and anxiety.

Anyway, I know that's not much of an update, but I do plan to write more, soon, I just wanted to explain a bit why I've been MIA for so long.

Fantastical.

Last year I pinned/posted a lot of 'around the house' type things, home-improvement projects and the like, and that was cool and all (still is, I mean), but for some reason I just feel like this year of my life is going to be geared more towards fashion.

I think it's what I've always loved, but for some reason was too scared to really express. I don't know if that makes sense. Like, when I was younger, obviously my parents bought my clothes, and I wasn't that great at shopping. I read Lucky, and Teen Vogue, and would cut out stuff I liked and paste it onto printer paper and make 'inspirations sheets' (aka mood-boards, and now, pinterest), but my style has always been sort of eclectic, and a lot of times my interpretation didn't turn out the way I imagined it, and I'd get frustrated and just end up wearing jeans and t-shirts from ropa, and spending the majority of my shopping budget on nice purses and shoes.

In the past few years, though, my justification for not expressing my love for fashion has been more superficial: I've felt like I'm too fat to deserve to wear nice stuff. I know that's kind of ridiculous, but it's true. I justified it all sorts of ways, mostly by claiming it was a tactic to save money (which, if you know about my addiction to Marc Jacobs sunglasses, you would know is not in my character.) Now, of course, I realize that I've had it all backwards; wearing nice things at any size is what gives you confidence, because feeling like you look good really does make a huge difference. Of course I would figure that out after losing weight, and while on a shopping strike. Oh well...I guess the up side to it is that I don't have too many things that I'll be conflicted about having to get rid of, or worry about altering.

What really sucks, though, is that while I feel like I have finally identified my personal style, and come into my own, so to speak, I can't do anything about it at the moment, because I am still losing weight rather consistently, and should continue to do so for the next 8 - 10 months (ideally), so I don't need to spend money on really nice stuff that I won't be able to wear for very long. (Sunglasses don't count. Those will fit forever.)

Well, on a completely different note, do you like how I talked about things being weird, and the next few months being...unpredictable, and then proceeded to post nearly every day and not mention any of that again? Haha! Well, the two Situations are still looming, but the unpleasant one turned out to be a little less unpleasant than we first thought, and the second is still exciting, and still in the works, but...well, there's really nothing we can do about either of them now...other than cut back on our spending. Which we're bad at. Really bad at.

One thing you should never do, apparently, is type 'Marc Jacobs' into the search box on pinterest...because you will, inevitably, buy something. And even if it's on sale, it's still probably moderately expensive  absolutely necessary for life and a totally justified purchase.

Sorry, I think my dogs disgusting fart muddled my brain for a minute there.

Since Aaron was here the past few days, him and Josh have been joined at the hip so I've been doing my own thing (when I wasn't cooking food for two humans that can really put it away!), which has mostly consisted of dumping a lot of junk from my childhood, and designating even more stuff to be donated. I did, however, manage to pack away all my winter boots (ironic, since we're under a winter weather/ice accumulation advisory over the next couple of days) and vacuum approximately 2 square feet of my bedroom. It's progress. I did a lot of laundry and a lot of dishes, so don't judge me!

When I was in high school, I would let people write on my pants. It started with one boy (duhh) who drew a skull (♥) and then, in an effort to disguise my insanely obvious favoritism, I had to let other people write/draw too. And then it became my trademark, and everyone had to write on me. (I would like to say it never got weird, but it kind of did, and I kind of liked it.) Well, the point of all this is that I found the one pair of pants that managed to survive, and am conflicted on what to do with them. I'm pretty sure no one out there wants a pair of pants that says 'This leg belongs to Fred" on the back left thigh, or "I CRAP PURPLE!" in purple sharpie...on the butt. And yet I can't bring myself to throw them away...they're so much more valuable to me than the normal stuff like yearbooks or even pictures. I think I'm keeping them. Ugh. Now I just need to figure out how to fold them up tiny enough to fit into my memory box.

Ever since I opened up and talked about my past, I've slept better, and not had any more weird dreams about where I grew up. I'm glad I got it all off my chest; it really was about time, I guess. It's amazing how immediate the reaction was. Two weeks ago thinking about that place would have made me angry, scared, and probably given me an anxiety attack, but today I am indifferent; it's there, I know some people there, but it's just a place; it can't hurt me, it never could, and I am not defined by it.

Wow, it's almost 5 am. That really snuck up on me. I should probably get some sleep.

More words, with pictures!

Wow. Tonight I decided to sit down and go through a few boxes that have moved with me from Texas, to Arkansas, back to Texas, and now back to Arkansas, and see what all I'd been keeping that was clearly so important. It was such a fun adventure going through all that, reading notes and cards I've gotten over the years, seeing how my own writing style has changed, and finally, letting go of about 75% of it. I kept a few important things, like birthday cards with nice messages, a couple of notes from people I still talk to, and some pictures and stuff, but I really gave it an overhaul. Before, my Memory Box (which is a pink Barbie carrying case) (yeah, I did just admit that...no shame) wouldn't even close, and now it's only half filled. (I got rid of more than half of it, though, I just filled some of the empty space with my giant medical history folder, since I don't really have anywhere to keep that.)

Some of the treasures I found include:

these awesome pictures that my mom took to document the worst case of chicken pox ever experienced by a child


This note that a friend wrote in...third grade, I believe?


This little piece of something that I wrote a few years ago, then stashed away.


This is what the piled looked like just after I started. By the time I was done I couldn't even carry it all in one trip! My family is big on card giving...for every occasion imaginable.


It's ironic, though, that despite making a lot of space in one box, I actually made a giant mess by pulling all the stuff in front of the box out of the closet, and leaving it stacked in front of the door. Oops! I'll get to it tomorrow, though, now I'm really in the mood to toss stuff out! Or at least put it in a bag to donate, which is what I'm doing to everything that isn't a card, note, or envelope.

I started on a box in my craft room closet, too, and ended up with a bunch of VHS tapes to give away. I don't even know if anyone would buy them, but I have a VCR somewhere too, so maybe if I pack it altogether someone will want it. I don't know. If not, then it's ReStore's problem figuring out if you can just toss all that in the trash. I'm just trying to get rid of as anything and everything that I haven't used in the past year, and don't have a reason to use in the foreseeable future. Makes sense, right?

Anyway, I don't even know where all this cleaning energy came from. Maybe it's because of all that sleep last night/earlier today? I guess I really am a night owl. No matter how hard I try to flip my schedule back to normal, I always end up awake and writing at 5 am. Not the worst thing possible, but I like daylight and I don't get enough of it this way.

My jambalaya turned out awesome, Josh said it was the best thing I've made in a while, so that's a win. I sort of followed a recipe, sort of just threw stuff in and hoped for the best (which is what I usually do when I cook anyway).
 
We ate while we watched the Westminster dog show...this is Orion's reaction to the Affenpinscher winning Best of Show. We were all rooting for the Portuguese water dog, although I really thought the fox terrier had a good chance. :)

demons of the past

I just realized that all day I've been opening pages and immediately pausing the videos but my speakers weren't even plugged in.

When we lived in Austin, I went through...7 jobs? I think. We were there for five years, the last three of which I held one steady job, so you do the math. Of those, only one got the requisite letter of resignation. At most, I just walked out one day and never went back. At one, I took an early lunch because I had an anxiety attack and didn't go back until two weeks later when I had to pick up my check. Not exactly noble, but then again this isn't a story about how reliable I am. (Which, ironically, was my best trait according to the people I worked for the last three years we were there.)

Sometimes I wonder if humans have a threshold for experiences...like the people that die in the midst of having some crazy adventure, if they just hit the maximum number of adventures, and that's why they died.

When I was younger I used to write constantly. I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and just wrote. Thoughts, feelings, perceptions of my surroundings, opinions of people, stories I'd make up about strangers, anything and everything that came to mind. Sometimes I'd write notes to people in them, and then I'd give them the notebook and they'd write back. So much of my life is chronicled, captured in my own words, and I often miss doing that.

I lived in my own little world, with my words to keep me company. When I wasn't writing I was reading, and I was perfectly content to spend the majority of my time alone. The stories I could create were very real to me, and they were better than the reality of where I was.

My disdain for the region I grew up in is thick, overwhelming, and destructive. I realize that I wouldn't be the person I am today without having had the exact past that I did. I know that the experiences I had shaped every fiber of my being. I made friends there, I loved there, and yet when I think of it, the only feeling I can muster is a burning hatred that grows the longer I think about it. I dream of the places I lived, the house I grew up in and the church/school I spent 6 days a week at when I was little, and in my dreams the depths of these places is vast, and I'm searching, exploring, yearning to find the thing that will allow me to make peace with my past.

The building I went to elementary school in, where my mom worked six days a week, and where I spent countless hours being terrified that someone was going to sneak in through the alley door and murder us all is gone now, but the secrets it holds will live forever.

I'm more scared of living than dying. Seems weird, considering that all of my anxieties fixate on murderers but the real fear lies in something horrible happening to the people I love, and me being left alone - abandonment. 

I believe that the same way we can have a soulmate, someone who compliments us in the most perfect way, we can also have that connection with a place - somewhere that you feel in perfect harmony with your surroundings.

While my notebook keeping tactics are clear evidence that I've always been an introvert, they also served as a support system for the onset of my depression, as well as a clever way of hiding it for so many years.

When I was 11, my brother moved away. He'd lived with us for six years, ever since he'd come back from living in Spain. He was a constant in my life, always home on weeknights hogging the TV, buying me music, movies, toys, anything I asked for really, the best brother anyone could have asked for. One day, when I walked in the house crying because my dad has refused to stop the car after I saw an abandoned kitten on the side of the road, he asked why I was upset. When I told him, he immediately took me back to the spot where we rescued the kitten and brought her home. I named her Socks, and even though she was taken less than two years later, I'll never forget the no-questions-asked willingness of my brother to just fix whatever he could in my life.

When he left, I was happy for him. He'd escaped the Valley, for a better job in Austin, and he really seemed to like it there.

Then, a year later, less than a week after finding out that her sister had died, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Because there was no one else to stay with me, and I was not the kind of kid willing to stay home alone, I spent a lot of time at the hospital, and later at the cancer treatment center where my mom took chemo. My dad's way of coping was denial - my mom didn't have cancer, it was just the doctors trying to scam money out of us. Since my mom was the one that was sick, and my brother was gone, I had no real support system. I focused my energy on school, and that helped for a while.

But then, because my mom hadn't been working, my parents couldn't afford to send me back to my private school the next year. My mom asked me to try public school for two weeks, promising that if I hated it, they'd find a way to send me back to Faith. I did hate it, and I had no friends, but I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to be a financial burden, and I certainly didn't want to stress my mom out.

I think, losing an aunt, even one I never knew, followed by being terrified of losing my mom, and not having anyone to discuss it with probably should have been dealt with, but it wasn't. I didn't bother to tell anyone that something might be wrong, because I didn't really know it was, and my parents were, understandably, focused on getting my mom healthy.

That's when it started, though. Even though no one was really mean to me (except the blind girl who attacked me in the bathroom with her cane), I just didn't fit in. The kids were tougher, calloused, and uncaring. I kept to myself even more than usual, and when I did make a friend, she was just as depressed as I was, and taught me to deal with stress in the most harmful way imaginable. But no one asked questions, and I took that to mean no one cared. If no one cared, then why stop? I started to sink into a hole of depression and self-hatred so deep that I am still working to dig myself out of it.

Sometimes I can't believe I hid it all so well - I was so self-destructive, so angry at the world, and deeply depressed, but in all that time only one person ever confronted me. Ironically it was my mom who convinced him that I was ok, and while part of me was grateful to not have to answer the questions anymore, part of me also wondered why she couldn't see it.

All of that, though, kept bottled for so long, has left me an emotionally damaged, unable to hold down a job, and slightly dysfunctional adult. And I blame the place. I can't blame my parents, they're my parents, they did the best they could given the circumstances, and I love them. I can't blame my brother, he's not responsible for me. I partially blame myself, because if I hadn't had to have surgery in the fifth grade, maybe we would have moved. But then again, maybe it would have been just as bad, or worse.

No matter what the real reason for my current mental state, the truth is that if I don't let go of the hatred I have for that place, I can't move forward. The place itself didn't shape me - the people there did, the experiences I had there did, but physically, the place itself - it's just land. I think it was so easy for so long to just lump all my blame on that, but now I need to start facing the fact that I've been gone for almost ten years and things haven't really gotten a whole lot better. I'm still lost, and I need to take a step back and find the real issue, so that I can free my mind, and be the strong, stable person I know I should be.

"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea
And the East and West, the wander-thirst that will not let me be" - Gerald Gould

These things.

Remember how I mentioned yesterday that things were kind of weird? Well, they just got weirder. So, even though I can't don't really want to elaborate at the moment, I'll say this: we have a Very Awful Thing (it's not really that awful: just unexpected and costly) that we have to deal with in the next few months, followed by a Very Awesome (also costly, but totally expected) Thing happening in late summer/early fall. Actually, two Very Awesome Things happening in late summer/early fall.

Anyway. Nothing bad, nothing to worry about, but the point is, I may disappear for days or weeks at a time, but eventually it will all make sense.

I promise to try and make something new, or alter something, or at least write some words at least once a month.

Also, never thought I'd say this, but listening to Ke$ha's Deconstructed album - and it's incredibly good. She can actually sing!

Birthday weekend

I think I need to write something today before we get to a 10 day lull. I've had a busy past few days...

My parents got here last Thursday evening. I'd spent the day getting ready, cleaning and fixin' up the guest room for them, and had chili cooking in the crockpot. Friday we went out for lunch, then came home and dropped off Josh and my dad, and my mom and I went out. We hit up TJ Maxx, Restore, and the mall. I found a few things at Restore, and also tried to teach my mom a little bit about thrifting - how you can't put things down, and how you have to learn to browse with one arm, while you hold all your other finds on the other arm. It was interesting, and we both found a few good things. She was pleasantly surprised at my ability to spot higher quality things in the midst of all the crap.

Find of the day was this:

Anyway, by the end of our shopping spree my mom started feeling bad, so instead of going all the way downtown for my birthday dinner, we ate at a local pizza place that's just up the road.

Saturday my brother (Paul) and almost sister-in-law (Marla) came up with her kids. They brought me birthday flowers, a cute owl pot holder/towel set, a new grill (!!!!), and presents for my animals. (A new bed for Belle, that she absolutely loves, and a pack of rawhides for Orion, which he ate in one day.) They also brought food, and Josh lit up the grill immediately and cooked up the fajitas my parents had brought from HEB, and we feasted. Then we all loaded up (well, except my dad) and went to Garvan Gardens to see the lights. There were so. many. people. Luckily we left at like 4:45 and got there right at 5:00 so we got in before it was too bad, but walking through was insane. Plus I had taken Orion and I think that at least 80% of the people we passed had to touch him. I can't even count how many times we got asked, "What kind of dog is that?!" or "What's his name?" At first he enjoyed it because he loves people and attention, but by the end he was tired (it's like a mile walk, maybe a bit more, and he's really not a high-energy type) and pulling me, and ready to get back to the car. Bella (Marla's younger girl) fell asleep in the car on the way back to our house so they loaded up and left. I passed out at 8 because I hadn't gotten too much sleep the past few days, and I think my poor tired, sick parents did too. It was a great day, though, overall.

 Sunday we lazed around the house all day. My parents had already said they would buy us either a new bed or a couch for Christmas, and since no one felt like going couch shopping, (and I refuse to buy one I haven't sat in) we ordered a bed online. It'll be here next Monday, so last night I started prepping the room by moving our current bed into the craft/guest room, and putting the air mattress on the floor in our bedroom. It'll be easier for me to clear out the area, and move the air mattress around and clean under it and stuff over the next couple of days...plus it's a queen size (as opposed to the full size we've been sleeping on for the past 6 years) and the new one is a king, so it's a little easier to estimate the size of the space I need to have cleared out and ready. (Also, in case you're wondering, the air mattress is still set up because after my parents left Josh got sick so he's been sleeping on the air mattress so that I don't get sick too.)

Ok, well, we're about to go eat lunch/dinner and have a few drinks since my entire birthday weekend was a booze-free affair. :) Ciao for now!    

Self: realization, appreciation.

I spent so many years of my life trying to repress pieces of myself, depriving myself of things I wanted, or wanted to do, in order to try and seem 'normal' or fit in better. Not always, really, because my family, God bless them, is full of weirdos and crazies, and it's part of what makes them so spectacular, but when we were apart and I was with other people, I wanted to fit in. To seem cool.

And even though I grew out of it years ago, I think, at times, there are still little things I do without even noticing. Like it became almost second nature to me, to adopt these habits and make them my own because it's what the normal people did.

It irks me when I notice them. I get mad at myself, because knowing what I know now, how little all those things really matter in the grand scheme of life, I'd take them back if I could. I'd be my weird, crazy self, every single day of every single year. I'd wear what I wanted, and cut my hair strange, and dance like an idiot in public...more than I already did. I mean, I couldn't hide my true self all the time. I can think of some really awesome moments in time that probably would have embarrassed normal people, that are treasured memories to me. Like the time I dressed as an old lady and sat in a wheelchair in a Fredericks of Hollywood.  Or the fact that I took my 6th grade school picture with bells in my hair.

There were also things I had no control over, that may have bothered others, but did not faze my family one bit. Like when our house flooded? We lived in a hotel for a week, then came home, pulled up the carpet, and lived with concrete floors. We also put everything (literally, y'all; EVERYTHING) into huge plastic bins, and the next time it flooded, we were fine. (Well, minus the fact that turning on a light or fan would lead to being shocked. That was an adventure in itself, though.)

I can't say that I was ever embarrassed, though. I think it was more of a feeling that I should be. I can remember one incident in particular; I was in second grade, and we had just moved from Edinburg to Eagle Lake. I had started school not knowing anyone, and not ever having attended a public school. A cousin of mine was in the same class, but I still didn't really know him, only that we were related. Anyway, one day in the first week of classes, we had music class. Our teacher played some music and we were instructed to dance. Now, I had been taking ballet classes from the time I was 2½, so I danced. Almost immediately I noticed that everyone else was just standing in place and kind of...shaking. After almost kicking the kid next to me in the head, and realizing that even the teacher was staring, it occurred to me that no one was actually expected to dance. I think that was one of the first times there was a full on realization that I was different.

Now that I look back at it, I know that it wasn't just the dancing that made me different; it was how self-aware I was, even at seven. I know I've talked before about how it can be hard for me to differentiate between the knowledge I possessed at the time of particular incidents, and the knowledge I have now, but that memory is quite clear. I remember feeling like I should be embarrassed, but I wasn't. I was sad for everyone else, because I thought to myself, "they've never had ballet lessons!" I didn't dance like that again, not because I cared what anyone thought but because I was worried about crashing into someone else, since they didn't seem to move.

And it is that sentiment that followed me for years; I'd do something, act a certain way, or say something, and then realize that I was getting funny looks. And so, I learned what kind of actions are normal, and acceptable, and what kind will lead to people thinking you're weird. What's strange to me, though, is that it was public schools that were harder to fit into. You would think that private schools are full of snobby kids, but honestly, that's where I thrived. It was second grade, fifth grade, and junior high that really threw me for a loop. By high school, though, I'd found my niche (theater), and the kids who accepted you as you were.

I am really glad, though, that I can appreciate all the random adventures that I had growing up. Like the time the 'Poop Lady' was trying to open our screen door, yelling for matches, and my mom and I had to hide behind the (open) front door until she left. Or the time my aunt almost got bit by a rattlesnake because my dad brought a live one home (in a bag) and she didn't believe him. Getting attacked by a baby cougar...in my own living room; that's one of my favorites, actually, strange though it may seem. The time I had a friend sleeping over, and we ate cereal in the dark, and when I went back to the kitchen I realized that the cereal was full of ants. (They still don't know, to this day.) Falling through a chair while I was chasing a chicken crocodile and pretending to be Steve Irwin. 

So this is me. Strange. Bi-polar. Addicted to expensive sunglasses, but won't pay full price for clothes. I'm bad at geography, but I love Egyptology, paleontology, forensic psychology, and nutrition. I'm messy but I like structure and for things to be even. Apparently, my pronunciation of 'Charlotte' is weird. I can't click my heels but I insist on trying anytime I jump off a curb. I like love classical music. I don't cuss. I'm about 85% sure I have Misophonia, which I believe makes my social anxiety and going out in public that much worse. I have been known to collect random animal bones I find in the woods. (Or you know, anywhere.) I cry for no reason sometimes. I cry for every reason other times. My brother is my hero; always has been, always will be. I'm scared of crickets and vacuum cleaners, but will pick up any spider without a second thought. I have what I call an audiographic memory; in that it is eidetic as far as sounds are concerned. I love animals, but also enjoy wearing real fur. I used to be tall for my age; that stopped around 4th grade. I wore a vintage, non-prom-like dress to prom. I talk to my pets, and treat them like my kids. I don't want kids. Not any, not ever. I don't like settling. Some days I want to buy a house, but it's mostly because I want to paint, and decorate. I really prefer the freedom of being able to move wherever, whenever I want. When I like a song, really like a song, I can listen to it over and over and over and over without getting tired of it.

Here are documentations of some of the aforementioned ventures, along with a couple of other treasures...enjoy!

And proof that it runs in the family...

The End. Have a great Sunday!

Midnight Confessions

There is a pile of rose petals under the kitchen table that have been there for approximately a month. I have yet to vacuum them up because there is a piece of tissue paper directly in front of them that I can't risk vacuuming. Clearly I could just pick up the tissue paper, and the problem would be half solved, but...I just haven't.

On top of my kitchen table (which, by the way, is actually a folding table...but a fairly nice one) is our humidor, the bag that holds all the pet treats, and Orion's travel backpack. Under the table are two coolers and three empty cardboard boxes.

It's been close to two months since the trash can lid has actually been on the trash can.

The living room fan is pretty extremely dusty.

We finally, a year and a month (to the day) after moving here, went and got our Arkansas drivers licenses. We did not get the car registered, though, because my dad is the co-signer and the title says 'AND' instead of 'OR' which means he has to sign stuff. Luckily he'll be here in three weeks. I feel slightly less bad about it not being done now.

We typically eat meals off our TV trays, even if we're not watching TV...because of the table situation. Also, because we're low on chairs.

Sometimes I like living like this. We have a lot of open space because we don't have much furniture, and since it's just us two we don't really ever miss it. I'm not too sure about Josh, but I grew up with a brother who worked evenings, and a dad who worked nights, so my mom and I usually ate alone or everyone ate at a different time. No one ever made a big deal about eating together, or family meals or anything. It's not that we weren't close or didn't spend time together, it just didn't center around meals when we did. And now that Josh and I are on vastly different sleep schedules (his due to work, mine due to insomnia) it's even less reason to try and get the table back up to table standards.

Despite the fact that I got through part one of The Plan (for putting away my fabric) my craft room floor is still not visible. I really do need to get on it, though, since the in-laws will be here this week for Thanksgiving.

I hate that I get overwhelmed so easily. I hate it. I would love to hold down a full time job, and have a clean, organized house. I wish I could go shopping and browse through things normally, without panicking and losing my focus if too many people get near me. I would love to wake up and face every single day knowing that I was going to get stuff done, without having to worry that I might have an anxiety attack at any given point, and shut down for anywhere from a few hours to a few days.

No matter what I do to keep it clear, my counter constantly piles up with useless, non-counter related stuff. And it's typically my stuff, so I can't even blame anyone else.

I have, however, gotten better at making sure I go outside, play with the dog, and run around and get some fresh air every day. Even while I was sick I would at least go walk the perimeter of the yard and get the mail.

I really need to do something about my hair. It's terribly uneven, and bulky because the short part underneath is kind of puffy, and sometimes it sticks out through the longer strands. (Although it's not that obvious here, but you can at least see how uneven it is. Also, please excuse the post mini-anxiety attack face and smeared eyeliner.) I think I need to make Josh take pictures of the back and write a whole post on what I did to it.

I'm really bad about 'liking' and commenting on people's stuff on facebook. And then I feel bad when they like stuff I post because I'll remember that they posted something neat four days ago, but I forgot to 'like' it then, and if I go back and do it now it'll look like I'm only liking it to compensate for them liking my thing. Or whatever. I don't know if that even made sense. But if anyone from facebook is reading this, and thinking to themselves 'that Amanda, she's such a horrible person who expects everyone to like her stuff but she never likes my stuff' - I'm sorry. I just...it's just like everything else in my life. I have good intentions, but I get distracted, or, for whatever reason, just don't do things when I should.

That kind of does make me a horrible person, though, huh?

Some days I want to just delete my facebook and twitter profiles entirely, but I did that once and it did not end well. The repercussions are still being felt. On one hand I feel like it's stupid, so stupid that something that...trivial as a facebook page could really cause so much drama, but on the other hand maybe things would have just been simpler if I had just...not done it. It was hard enough adding people again once (I actually deleted my page and made a new one, rather than just reactivating the one I had) and I don't want to go through all that again.

I feel constantly as though nothing I do is ever good enough. The sensible part of me knows that that is my depression talking, but the sensible part of me is quieter and less aggressive than the non-sensible, self-punishing, depressed part of me. Unfortunate, because on those rare days when my head is clear and my heart is free, I really feel like I could do something spectacular.

Lately my depression has been affecting my eating...as in I'm never hungry. I know it's bad, but I haven't tried to do anything about it. When I get into these weird, transitional funk periods, the last thing I'm worried about is food. I'm just trying to keep it under control as best I can, not stress myself out, and hopefully get through having company without having an anxiety attack in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.

I am often conflicted, in many areas of my life. I have lots of ideas, and I want lots of things, but at the same time I want different things...does that make any sense? Take, for example, the living room situation. Some days I want a nice couch, and a matching ottoman, and more bookshelves, and a new, bigger DVD shelf. Other days I don't want anything but my ratty old wing-back chair back, just as ratty as the day I threw it away. Some days I want a mansion, a castle preferably, rooms for days, and other days I want a simple house with just a fireplace and enough room for us and a few guests. It even goes for my style; sometimes I want to dress up really nice, wear designer clothes, and make-up, and go out in style, and other times I just want to throw on some 90s grunge.

We have way too many magazine subscriptions. Josh gets Details, Sports Illustrated, Time, and Cigar Aficionado. I get Lucky, Vogue, Whole Living, Better Homes & Gardens, and Guideposts. Plus we get two monthly local magazines. They really add up before you know it, and I rarely have time to read them all before the next one (three) are in the mail. I have a huge magazine archive in my craft room. I...I can't even look at it some days. There are SO. MANY. They partially contribute to the counter-clutter situation.

I really don't miss Austin. I never felt quite...right there. I mean it was a lot of fun, we had some crazy adventures and met a lot of people. I definitely miss the people; my brother, our friends, even the people I worked for. (I was a nanny.) But not Austin itself. I feel much more at home here in Hot Springs. It's just a better fit for my personality.

Well, I don't really know why I felt like confessing all of this to the internet, but it's done, and it's nearing 5 o'clock which means that the murderers are headed home for the night, and I'm tired so I'm going to wake up my dog and make him potty (he's not going to be happy; he's currently barking/running in his sleep, huddled under his comfy blanket) and then head to bed myself.

Random thoughts pt 2

Sometimes I feel like I'm really bad at being an adult. I can't hold down a job without my anxiety flaring up. Occasionally I forget to do important things like get my oil changed. I've also been known to forget less important things like washing the dishes, making doctors/dentist appointments, or getting the mail. Some days I live on cereal and Doritos, and I stay in my nightshirt all day, and I don't even set foot outside. Which is frustrating to me because part of the reason I moved here (and away from Austin) is so that we could have a house, with a yard, and a dog. I feel like my life is wasting away and I'm not living it. But I don't know what to do differently. I've tried making lists, things to the effect of: -wash dishes, -go outside, -eat three meals; include fruits and veggies, -workout, -pick up 5 things that are out of place...is that normal? I don't think other adults do stuff like that. I think they just remember. Somewhere along the way they got the 'How to be a Proper Adult' manual and I must have thought the person handing them out was a murderer and run the other way.

I'm fairly certain I have contacted some crazy 'Monsters Inside Me' type disease, based on the fact that I have two itchy/red patches on my legs. They haven't healed for like 3 weeks, but they aren't spreading. When I die, plant a tree in my honor. If you release balloons I will haunt you and throw trash at you.

I love my animals to death, I really do, but the fact that Josh and I are both here with them 24/7 has made them very clingy. I can't walk down the hall without having two extra shadows right there with me. If I go to the bathroom, I have two extra sets of eyes watching me. (Remember how I can't close the door?) When I shower, Belle sits on the bath mat until I'm done. When I sleep, she curls up behind my knees. If I'm watching TV, she's on the window and Orion is under my feet. If I'm cooking, he's sitting in his bed chewing on a bone and watching me. Right now, Belle is napping in her chair next to me, and Orion is curled up in front of the computer desk.

I really and truly can't believe that it's November already. A month until my birthday. I just...I don't understand how time is going by so quickly!

I want to build a wardrobe full of comfy, luxury basics. Cashmere shirts and sweaters, silk nightgowns and pajamas, anything lined with rabbit or fox fur...I've realized that those are the things I wear the most, so why not invest in quality pieces that will last and make me feel comfortable and pampered?

I feel a Sick coming on. I hate being sick. HATE. IT. It makes me even less productive than usual, and I get horrible migraines and then I end up crying in bed and begging God to kill me now. (Seriously.) So I'm going to go and drink like 8458 cups of echinacea tea and try to stave this off as long as I can.