Mental Health, in Gifs

Yesterday was a weird day.

I think it was what I've heard some people refer to as a mental health day.  Or the reason people need mental health days?  I'm not sure.  All I know is that it was one of those days where you don't really feel so hot, but you don't think you're actually sick, and it's hard to pinpoint where the feeling of yuck is coming from, but you suspect it might be that old frenemy your brain.  Symptoms include a mild, nagging headache, lack of motivation to do anything at all, even the things you love, and loss of ability to communicate with the human race.

I try to keep my interactions with others at a minimum on days like these- which are blessedly infrequent- as my brain seems to require more time to process all the complicated things well-meaning acquaintances say to me, like "How's it going?" and "Hey, I like your boots!"  My delayed response plus suddenly being unsure as to what words are appropriate to any given greeting sent my way ("The sun is bright today.  Wait, no... fine.  I'm fine,"  "...........................Thanks.  They are brown.") make it so that I tend to get concerned glances, or, worse, seem to be interpreted as distant.  It's terrific.

I thought it was possible I was pulling off the whole "I am a normally-functioning human being today" facade until Derek wondered aloud if something was wrong.  Twice.  Thankfully he has watched me go through a day or fifty of these, and doesn't really take them personally, just helps me engage in what Anne Lamott calls "radical self-care" and pulls up a running documentary for us to watch together in the evening.  (The Barkley Marathons.  And it was good, you guys.  Definitely watch if you like watching people push themselves or running or screwy but neat Appalachians who put on a race that makes you go, "WHAT?" every time they reveal another detail about the race.)

Other acts of radical self-care:

Forcing Adelaide to go grocery shopping with me while the boys golfed with Dad.  Grocery shopping isn't my favorite thing, but Adelaide is one of my favorite things, especially when she sees a college girl in some of those teeny tiny short-shorts that make you think they should just be done with it and make themselves some denim underwear (mmm, so comfy) and Daughter's nonexistent poker face is just like

followed shortly by

which made me laugh, which made her laugh, until we were quite the spectacle in the produce section of Aldi.

I also wore my favorite pair of boots, always sure to cheer me up, which my mom got me for my birthday (thanks, mom!) and for which I receive compliments almost every time I wear them.  And yes, I know these are commonly referred to as "booties," but I can't say that without our boys snickering, so I don't.  Also?  Fifth position.

Ballet:  The gift that keeps on giving.  Please excuse my less-than-perfect turnout.  It's been a while.

Other acts of self-care:  Reading this book, eating some of the peanut butter cookies I made over the weekend, minimizing my time on social media, and not obsessing over the fact that I didn't go for a run, even though the weather was nice.


Of course, this whole thing could all be due to the startling revelation that greeted me yesterday morning:  I was out of coffee.  There was not a bean, a speck, a single ground of the stuff to be found in our house.  It is that powerful.  (It is powerful, indeed!  Hallelujah!)

(And sorry about that previous sentence; I mean, it is Holy Week, although even joking about worshiping coffee has probably branded me as an always-and-forever heretic.  Alas, it wouldn't be the first time.  HEY KELLI- remember that time we were taken into a scary van and asked if we'd been SAVED? Those were the days, hmm?)

Today, however, is better!  I went for a difficult, hilly, great run, I've remembered how to speak to people without alarming them, and Derek commented, "It's nice to have my wife back," which is always a good/sad sign; good in that Yes!  I'm back!  Sad in that I really am bad at putting on a happy face.

Sep-Freaking-Tem-Ber

September hates me.

I know we've discussed this before, but now I know for certain:  September and I are not friends.  We do not text each other random things.  We do not meet up for coffee.  We do not send each other hilarious memes and articles on social media.  Not. friends.

My proof:  This morning, not eight hours into this cursed month, the carafe to my coffee maker shattered at my feet.  THANKS, SEPTEMBER.  Now, one could point out that the carafe slid from its plate and onto the floor because I insist on putting it in a cabinet every afternoon, only to get it back out every morning because I don't like having it out on the counter, but one is not going to.  One could also posit that moving something back and forth mightn't be the best idea by such a historically clumsy person, but one is not going to do that, either.

Thankfully, I am a problem solver.

Liquid measuring cup + my thumb = makeshift coffee carafe.  I have to apply constant pressure to that little black thingy because the coffee maker has some kind of "sneak a cup" feature, so if the black thing isn't being depressed, it assumes the drinker has removed the carafe because they can't wait 90 seconds for their coffee, which is a reasonable assumption, given the coffee drinkers I know.  

Not an ideal situation, sure, but I still got my coffee and had the chance to feel like I was milking some kind of coffee cow- or maybe it's coffeeing some kind of caffeine cow?- along with a hearty "Take THAT, September!"  

Then September made my iron levels too low and I didn't get to give blood, even though the supply for my blood type is CRITICALLY LOW.  It's no longer content with making me miserable, it's risking people's lives now!  WHERE WILL IT END, SEPTEMBER?

And just for anyone else who doesn't believe that bloodthirsty September is all bad, I just remembered that one of the songs on my old Fiona Apple album was called Pale September, and while I enjoy the song, Ms. Apple would be a major contender for the title of Queen and Grand Monarch of Melancholy and Depression.  I rest my case.

A Useful Pre-Christmas List

Today is the 22nd of December.  Three days until Christmas.

Perhaps you're scrambling right now, trying to get everything everything everything done before Christmas.

Or maybe you're a born procrastinator (here!), and you're looking for something to do that will enable you to put off all those seemingly important things you have to do.  If that is you, well, friends, the internet and I are here to help.

A Few Things to Look at Instead of Doing Whatever You Should Be Doing Right Now

(Stop sighing, Derek, Mr. Responsible.  I am providing a service.)

• In the spirit of Christmas, first up is an article about old suitcases that were found in a now-defunct mental asylum.  They belonged to patients who presumably died within its walls, and each is now a unique time capsule, brought to life by photographer Jon Crispin.  Here's the article my sister originally shared, and here's the original Willard Suitcases website if you want to see more.

• If insane asylums don't give you the holiday feel-goods, maybe this article by Anne Lamott will, which begins thusly:

"I used to hear in early sobriety that if you had an idea after 10:00 pm, it was probably a bad idea.

I think the same is true about any ideas you may have in the next few days.

Everyone is very crazy. Some of us are better at covering this up than others. Some people will say how cheerful they feel and how much they love the holidays; but these are very angry people. Try not to be alone with them for any length of time."

• And finally, here's a video Caedmon watched three times in a row this morning.  Derek and I often joke that Cade is a future politician (*shudder*), with his ability to charm the public at large and his penchant for baby-kissing.  He's excellent at saying exactly what I want to hear, such as the following, excerpted from our conversation this morning:  

"Mommy, do you know what my favorite Christmas song is?"

"I don't.  What is it?"

"'Mary Did You Know?' because I like the words."

At that point I was torn between gushing and skepticism- I mean, he really was laying it on a bit thick.  

Anyway, as half the western hemisphere is currently obsessed with Pentatonix, I had seen this video, and decided that just in case it really was his favorite, I'd reinforce it with some lovely a capella harmonies.