In Which I Stomp My Feet And Pout

It's Rodeo time here in wonderful, oh-my-god-is-really-90-in-Feb Tucson. Schools are shut down, which caused momentary panic, but Monkey Man has the time off too. Yeah! I don't have to lock the boys in a closet to keep myself from going insane! Monkey Man actually had to take the time off as his company tries to save money so they won't have to have a layoff, but I'm focusing on the positive. I get help with the kids, and he still has a job. Everybody wins!

We took a walk/bike ride/scooter ride as a family this morning. Family time? Not spent in front of a TV? Crazy. It was so much fun, I was grinning like a fool the entire time. Seems like this is something we should do more often. But in some sort of bizarre, upside-down way, it's often difficult to make ourselves do the things that bring us more joy. I'm working on that.

I've been spending some of my copious amounts of free time reading the archives over at The Happiness Project. Ms. Rubin's ideas about feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right really resonate with me. Just like most depressives, I spend a lot of time and energy avoiding feeling bad (which sounds counterintuitive; that's why they call it crazy) and end up never feeling right.

This manifests in my daily life when I avoid doing all those little tasks that would greatly increase my satisfaction with life. Taking the dog for a walk, washing my face before I go to bed, blogging. I won't even start the discussion about exercising and eating better. Because (cue 3 yr old whiny voice), "I'm too tired... I deserve this treat... I DON'T WANT TO!" Yes it's true, being depressed often feels like having a very bad tempered 3 year old in your head all.the.time. And when she and the uber-critical Super Bitch start fighting...well it's really no wonder that getting out of bed just seems impossible some days.

So I created a list of 11 things I'd like to do on a daily basis that will increase my sense of feeling right, and I'm tracking them. I hope that developing these better habits will not only give me more satisfaction but also lead to further development of good habits. Even when I.don't.want.to! Habits like taking a family walk?

In Which I Decide to Be...Fine

Do you ever not know how you're doing? It used to be an easy question for me. Mostly I did crappy. Not that I ever shared that. My answer was usually, good. Or fine. Or some other not-helpful word that generally means, "Thank you for pretending to care by asking me how I'm doing but I'll be damned if I'm exposing my feelings to you."

And how are you doing today?

I had the double whammy of psychiatrist and psychologist sessions this afternoon. I'd been fretting since yesterday that when they asked how I was, I wouldn't know how to answer. Because they're really not keen on that whole "fine" thing. Geez, do I have to do all the work around here?. To be fair, I pay them to force me to be honest. Hmmm, that's sort of f'ed up when you think about it that way. So I decided to depend on their professional opinions.

Turns out I'm doing pretty good. Meds are doing what they're supposed to be doing. I seem to have fewer side effects than with the Zoloft. Although withrawal is much worse. Not that I did it on purpose. I'm just forgetful. You would think the spinning rooms and massive headaches would be a good reminder. Turns out I'm not nearly as bright as I like to think I am.

Anyhoo. My 20 year high school reunion is in June. And I've got way too much emotional baggage being dumped in my psyche for me to believe that, as I like to claim, I just don't give a rat's ass. And when I realized that, I started beating myself up for not getting on with my life. 20 years? It's time to move on, damn it.

Okapi Dreams

Last night I dreamt of okapis. Seriously. A whole herd of them going through my backyard at dusk. I'd love to tell you that I had recently being reading about this strange creature, but I haven't. No, my mind managed to dredge up this bizarre little tidbit all by itself.

In the West it was once believed that okapis were a mythological creature. Or at least extinct.

So as far as dream interpretation goes, either something once hidden will be revealed, or I'm moving to central Africa.

Did I Forget Something?

Today was parent-teacher conferences at Quake's new preschool. I admit that I was on my knees crying, "Why, God, Why?" when I found out that he wouldn't be going to school for two days, but then my babysitter called and said she had the week off too. See? God really does answer prayers.

Anyway, I left Quake at home. Yes, alone. He's already 4 for crying out loud. Oh right, I already mentioned the babysitter. Nevermind. But I took Cha Cha with me because Cha Cha? No so big on the whole being left with strangers thing. A category which includes his own father. To be fair, I sometimes like to pretend Monkey Man is a stranger too...

Was I in the middle of telling a story?

I'm listening to David Sedaris in the car (Books on CD from the library are my salvation. Amen.) so I'm snorting and wiping tears away when I pull up to the school. I manage to pull myself together by the time I get to Quake's classroom where I stop. Thinking. Something. Something. Something is missing...

Oh, right! The baby! Cha Cha was still snoozing peacefully when I got back to the car. And I'm officially a dumb-ass.

Not So Good With The Chores...

Quake, my 4 year old, put on a pair of boxer shorts to wear as underwear yesterday. He usually wears them as pjs (just add a t-shirt too small to wear in public and you too can have cheap kid's pjs!), but it's not completely bizarre to see him dig out a pair for day-wear. So today I finally started the laundry from our trip to San Diego. Because we've been back for a week now. And I suppose that's long enough.

My child had no. clean. underwear. Bad Mommy! Bad!

Bad news: I'm a bad mommy and my son doesn't want to tell me I'm slackin'.
Good news: My 4 year old is a creative problem solver!

Do you think when he's older I can convince him that I taught by example and not by desperate need?

Glossy Obsessed

I have a wee bit of an obsession with magazines. I'm an avid reader in general, and I just can't resist the snack-sized tidbits in a monthly (or less, I'm not that picky) publication. I also love eye candy. I can go a little crazy at the bookstore, especially when I'm stressed out. This weekend I managed to leave Borders with this pile and $30 less in my pocket.

Does this selection make me look a bit schizoid?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Why doesn't that crazy woman buy a couple of subscriptions and stop wasting her money at the bookstore?" Or maybe you were thinking about chocolate. Like me. I actually do have a few subscriptions, but I don't always buy the same magazines every month. Not that I do this every month. Not usually.

Having noted that though, I must admit that a few of these titles have been coming home with me on a pretty regular basis. I should fill out those annoying little subscription cards for those. That will free up some precious bookstore time to look for new favorites.

Do you read magazines? Which are your favorites? Are there some you like for a few months and then get bored with? Are there defunct magazines you still miss (I have a gift, a gift, for finding fabulous, new magazines that then go under)? Do you have subscriptions or do you buy at the store? Do you think your choices say anything about your personality (I never buy fashion magazines...)? How long do you keep a magazine? Do you store your favorites, throw all issues away, tear out or mark ideas and stories and pictures you like?

And to think, I haven't even started on the joys of a local resale bookstore that sells used magazines for cheap! A good $30 in there would get me a stack too heavy to carry. My husband would probably make me keep them in the garage.

Fifi's Breakfast

My favorite breakfast - granola, Greek yogurt, fruit, and milky coffee. This particular morning I had strawberries (frozen and thawed slightly in the microwave), but I really love fresh mango and bananas or cantaloupe.

I fell in love with this breakfast while honeymooning in Mexico. Of course my love affair has gotten even more intense since I discovered Greek yogurt. You know it's love when my cheap ass is willing to spend the extra cash.

And let me guess...you couldn't give a rat's ass about my breakfast. I swear before I turned the computer on I had a dozen things to write about. Well at least I thought it was a pretty photo.

Just go check out this post over at Go Fug Yourself. I want to be Mad Auntie Fifi! Please, please, please! Yeah, I know there are lots of evil things about getting old, but frankly I'm looking forward to getting a free pass on being a touch crazy. Let them all whisper behind my back about how I'm going senile; I'll be having a blast.