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December 21, 2012 :: 5:20 PM

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guinness :: christmas 2012

SO.

It sounds stupid, but I’ve always wanted an American Girl doll. (Yes, you read that right.)

I’ve wanted to take up sewing again, too. Too many friends have picked up quilting/sewing and I feel like following along. I needed another hobby, I guess.

I came to the great conclusion that I would get myself an AG doll and sew it some clothes. A fencing uniform, specifically. I’d use some PVC pipe for the base of the mask with some window screen, a hanger for the foil, etc.

Enter the sewing machine from hell.

I had picked up an interest in sewing in high school/college and my dad bought me this really expensive (comparatively speaking) machine. The model is a limited edition and hard to find any info about on the web. I ended up buying a couple of pattern books and a book titled “Me and My Sewing Machine” with a gift card I received.

I’ve been practicing and the machine and I just aren’t getting along. I get the tension correct on my test piece and then it misbehaves on the pattern pieces.

Today, though, I had a breakthrough and managed to cobble together my first pair of doll pants. Then I promptly tore them apart. They don’t fit the doll correctly, but I know what I need to do to make them fit… then I need to attach the bib, and lo! and behold! A pair of fencing knickers!

Yeah. Except that once I get the capri pants sewn together, the bib is going to be kind of a mystery. I have a tank top pattern that will work - with some alterations. Then I need to figure out the logistics of the jacket. Whether or not I’m going to do a chest guard and plastron.

So many decisions and I keep getting ahead of myself…

It wouldn’t be so bad except the machine is driving me fucking nuts. I don’t know if it’s user error (most likely) or the machine.

I’d thought about taking sewing lessons, and maybe it’s time I sucked it up and did it. The less the machine and I get along, the less interested I’m getting in making the fencing outfit…

and I don’t want yet another unfinished project on my to-do list…

*sigh*

I’m not going to comment…


December 19, 2012 :: 11:45 AM

I’ve been playing shrink to a number of people lately… having lost both my parents by my 26th birthday and my 3-ish year old cousin, I’m somewhat of an “expert” on depression/mourning after a close family member passes away.

Other than the reaction blog entry a few days ago, I’ve said very little. The majority of my posts on Facebook related to the shooting are in the form of shared links. I’ve been trying to keep quiet and not add my voice to the deafening roar.

And I’ve been asked why - seeing how I never know when to shut up.

Publicly, I’ve said nothing regarding the Newtown shooting, except that I have a college friend whose daughter was killed. I’ve mentioned being on the fence as to whether or not I’m making the four hour trip to attend the wake/funeral. I’ve donated to both the Engel family and the UConn scholarship set up for the surviving children and their siblings in Newtown. I have no public opinion on gun control. I’m ambivalent regarding the media’s insistence on tying this back to some sort of mental illness.

In the end, it boils down to the fact that I don’t have the “right” words to describe what happened, or my reaction to the flood of emotions I’ve experienced.

Sometimes it’s best to just keep your mouth shut.

This situation is fucked up enough as it is without me saying something in my normally tactless manner and managing to make it worse…

This wasn’t supposed to happen…


December 17, 2012 :: 12:02 PM

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OLIVIA ENGEL :: 2006 - 2012 :: NEWTOWN, CT
photo lifted from one of the news sites and is used without permission

I went to school with Olivia’s father Brian. We marched in the band together.

I’m not going to link to all the media because it’s easy to find… but here’s one story that focuses on her.

The family has put together a paypal account to receive donations. You can visit the Facebook page here.

This shit isn’t supposed to happen to a six year old. Period.

Real life example: broken down


December 12, 2012 :: 9:26 AM

So, a few days ago, I received a request to write down what it was like in my head during a depression cycle. I said sure and then promptly wondered how the hell I was going to manage that.

Enter R.E.M.

Yesterday, after the entry went live, it ruffled just about the number of feathers I figured it would. (An un-alarming number of people told me to “get over myself and stop being such a fucking drama queen.”) Then the same person who started all this asked me to write the “true side” of each comment.

I bring you a cut, pasted, edited version of yesterday’s entry. Truth and lies.

——
Today I woke up to R.E.M.‘s “Everybody Hurts”.

Specifically, the lyric “Everybody hurts, take comfort in your friends.” Seriously. That’s the first thing I heard. The timing was ridiculously perfect.

My brain automatically started in:
- What friends? You don’t have any friends. Bullshit. I have PLENTY of friends. Some are the take off the shelf once a year types, others are more frequent visitors to my world.

- When was the last time you heard from any of your so-called friends? That’s right. Forever ago. Also not true. It’s mostly Facebook communication, but there’s a lot of chatting going on either publicly or privately.

- They don’t like you. They never liked you. VERY NICE, SUBCONSCIOUS. Misquote “Rocky Horror.” Running out of material, are we?

- They only hung out with you out of pity because you’re pathetic. They hang out with you because you’re a nice person and funny as fuck when the mood strikes.

- Tell the truth: you’re skipping the party because you know you only got invited because they felt they had to. The party is Saturday night in CT. I have a 10AM WIT with the Muchachos Drumline on Sunday. You tell me if you’d be able to do both…I know my limits and I know that’s not going to happen. I am very bummed by this fact, but I need the ensemble practice. Plus, I committed to the Muchachos. My friends will understand.

- The comment to “Leave your drama at the door” was meant for you and you only. Um. No. Just. No.

- They don’t want to deal with you and your shit. Possibly true. The depression is hard for my friends to deal with. I get that. It’s why I try to hide it from them.

- You’re alone, alone, alone. Again, no. I have lots of people in my life. Some I like, some I don’t, but I am never alone.

—-

As Jenny once said, DEPRESSION LIES. It is the cruelest bully I’ve ever met.

It’s hard to deal with, it’s harder to explain.

I invite any of you who feel that I should just “get over myself” to spend a day like yesterday in my head. I was so upset ALL day over stupid shit that wasn’t true, but once it takes root, it’s all over.

I can’t take anti-depressants, but before I discovered that, I noticed that they didn’t help anyway. My particular biology trumps science when it comes to depression lately.

And it sucks.

But I do the best I can to deal with it. After all, life goes on whether you want it to or not.

Real life example


December 11, 2012 :: 10:45 AM

Today I woke up to R.E.M.‘s “Everybody Hurts”.

Specifically, the lyric “Everybody hurts, take comfort in your friends.” Seriously. That’s the first thing I heard. The timing was ridiculously perfect.

My brain automatically started in:
- What friends? You don’t have any friends.

- When was the last time you heard from any of your so-called friends? That’s right. Forever ago.

- They don’t like you. They never liked you.

- They only hung out with you out of pity because you’re pathetic.

- Tell the truth: you’re skipping the party because you know you only got invited because they felt they had to.

- The comment to “Leave your drama at the door” was meant for you and you only.

- They don’t want to deal with you and your shit.

- You’re alone, alone, alone.

So far, I haven’t been able to shut the voices up.

It’s affecting my work big time today, and I want to go home early because I’m sick.

But I’m not physically sick, so I’m going to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

Because that’s what we depressed people do.

We hide how we’re really feeling.

We don’t want to burden anyone.

We don’t want them to pity us and give the voices reason to gloat.

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