hand eye crafts

Wow --- a week later.  There was a time when I could/would post every other day.  Are blogs going out of style?  Is it tumblr or nothing these days? Not that I've had any earth-shattering news to report.  When you are clinically depressed and chronically unemployed, days pretty much run together as blurs of nothing getting done. We did buy our Christmas tree.  A beautiful, big, fat one.  But I haven't drug myself up the stairs to pull the decorations out of Hannah's closet.  Must get the lights on it tomorrow, though.  Simply must .

Yesterday was the first year anniversary of my mother's death.  I was the only one who remembered.  Which would have mortified her.  She was one of those write-the-thank-you-notes-the-evening-of-the-event-type.  She never wanted to look anything but completely together, with everything handled. She was determined to be perfect, to stay on top of things because of pride.  She wanted to stand alone because of what she was capable of.  Her isolation was due to her idea that dignity was the goal, and dignity is usually a one-person-at-a-time event. I find myself doing almost everything by myself.  Remembering dates, occasions.  My children don't have a clue.  Don't even show an interest in paying attention to anyone's lives/feelings/activities but their own.  I'm the only one who seems to realize that there are things that simply have  to be done, just have  to be thought about.  Even if it interrupts a DVD or a text ...

My clothes are aggravating me.  My skin is aggravating.  I want to rip the entire world away from me, or me from the entire world. I am angry and I am hopeless and I want to scream, but I have no idea what I'd say.  Nothing --- nothing  --- is calming me.  I have the TV on because silence is deadly.  But noise makes my skin crawl.   My son is having very serious mental health issues, but he is not sharing (and he certainly has every right to keep his business to himself.)  My daughter is all over the map emotionally.  I gave each of them until December 31st to save enough money to live on their own --- I can't imagine that either of them have even a tiny percentage of what it would cost. If they cannot pay rent somewhere else, I will allow them to live here, but there will be rent and bills and rules.  Frankly, the idea of all three of us under one roof again scares me.  We are not good for one another in a long run. ...

When I am having a particularly bad depressive day, or in this exact situation, several in a row, the feeling that lives inside me is that I am being torn to shreds.  Thoughts hurt, clothing is a nuisance, the sadness has depth, breadth and width. These are the days that make The End (as in the righting of the ship) seem impossible to see, much less imagine. I see people who care enough to get dressed, go out, keep their heads up, look others in the eye, talk , and I want to SCREAM at them "HEY! I'M DYING HERE!  And no one cares." I used to have my mother to pray for me --- now I'm not sure I even know anyone who prays.  My children are dealing with issues of their own (though they weigh exponentially on me), plus neither is of an age where anyone's world matters but their own. I am sitting on this couch right now wondering how I will make it through the next ten minutes.  That's what my life is some days.  How am I going to make it through?  W...

I do not like to shop.  Even online I'm usually not that caught up in it.  Except for one thing. Cowboy boots. Could look at them all day.  I openly gasp at some.  I emit "will-die-a-little-if-these-don't-become-mine" noises often. Last week, I was down.  Hell, I've been down all year, but last week was particularly vicious and personal.  So I took some of what rather small amount of disposable income I have, and bought myself some boots.  These boots to be specific: Right away, the photo does them no justice at all.  The leather is buttery soft and the embroidery is impeccable, and, yes, I might have rubbed them against my face. These boots positively take my breath away.  And they're going with me to Nashville to give me something pretty to look at and contemplate on when everything else threatens to overwhelm me.