Making a stand.

It's a funny thing, depression. It will hit you when you least expect it. Or when you might expect it. Or when you absolutely do expect it. It's an equal-opportunities sort of thing, depression.

I can't stand the word.
Depressed. Depressed. Depressed.
Blech.

I don't want to be depressed, nor do I associate the way I feel with that word.

Depressed.
Yeah, still not that.

What would I prefer it to be called?
It's a difficult question, with no easy answer.
But I am not pushed down, so I hate to say I am depressed. That I suffer from depression.

I often lie in bed and all I can think about are bad things. What-ifs. Not even future what-ifs, necessarily, either. Never-weres. "What if I'd said this to that person during that conversation? They'd have been terribly upset. I'd have been upset. That would have been horrible."
I can't think of the good stuff. Not how I have friends I love, a husband whom I adore, pets that make me happy. Not how we went for a walk and saw flowers blooming, that I cooked delicious foods, that I took beautiful photographs, that I read an awesome book. Not that we have a roof over our heads, food to eat, technology and books galore.

The not-depression is still the bubble, sure, but it's also a miasma. I feel it chilly against my thoughts, but I can also feel it clinging damply to my shoulders.

I deal with it as best I can, for as long as I can, but sooner or later it winds its way through too much of me. And this is when I withdraw. I don't talk to my friends, my family, the people who make me laugh. I stay at home. I hug Matt a lot, trying to get the image of him dead to disappear from my brain.

But this is my battle with the stupid little brain chemicals. They're not pushing me down without a fight. And that is what this wailing in the dark is all about.
It's my stand.

It's a Missage!

We recently got around to unpacking a box that we'd left in our kitchen from our move (and before anyone says anything, yes, we have been in this flat for a year and a half) and found the rest of our magnetic letters. So we've been leaving rather a lot of messages on the freezer door.


Note: This next one says 'coral'.
We'd been watching a nature documentary that showed how coral reproduce.







Also, check out this article from cracked. Blech.

And this is what we did on a Sunday afternoon...

We decided that our (let's face it - mostly my) books needed a bit of organisation.
Our spare room has as many bookcases as we could squeeze into it, but it's also a bit of a dumping ground.
Before we could start, we had to move: three suitcases, the drum kit from Guitar Hero, a big bag of compost, the two recycling boxes, the laundry basket, the vacuum cleaner, a bedside table, and two chairs.
*deep breath*
The pictures below were taken before we started, just for the sake of comparison. Please excuse the crappy quality of the photos in this post.

We thought we'd start with the science fiction / fantasy section. The bookcase nearest the cupboard had been that to start with, so it still had some Pratchetts, Asimovs, Holts, Rankins et al in it. So we started pulling all the appropriate books from the other stacks and bookcases.

Ignore my uncharacteristically colourful clothing, please...

Top shelf: Classic stuff - Asimov, Bradbury, Wyndham etc, and Tom Holt.
Second shelf: Pratchett, plus a few random books.
Third shelf: Trudy Canavan, Robin Hobb, Tamora Pierce.
Fourth shelf: Robert Rankin, J.K. Rowling, random others.
Bottom shelf: Hardbacks from a number of authors.

Top shelf: Robert Jordan, Jack Chalker, etc.
Second shelf: Lemony Snicket, Dr Who novels, Torchwood novels, Philip Pullman, and one of the Skullduggery Pleasant novels.

There were books everywhere at this point.



Next we put together our crime section (note the tea cup. Constant consumption of tea helped counteract the insidious dust)...

We decided to put most of the TV show tie-in books in the bookcase in the bedroom, as I like to read them when drifting off to sleep, as they don't involve much in the way of thinking. I own way too many Buffy books.

Still books everywhere.








The horror section begins to take shape...

...as do other bookcase loads.


By the end of the afternoon, we'd got to this stage. Not bad, I think.




By the way, do you want to know what was the high point of the afternoon for Matt?
Near the beginning, I was putting the Robert Jordans on the top shelf. Bear in mind that this shelf is higher than my head and also that they are big, heavy books. I was putting three up at the same time when they slipped, and one of them fell, catching me painfully on the collarbone. I yelped, and Matt asked what the matter was.
Me: It attacked me!
Matt: What?
Me: Lord of Chaos attacked me!

Cue Matt laughing for several minutes.
Bloody unsupportive husbands...

What am I enjoying right now?

Just a little list of what's making me smile today.

For art nerds like me...

A webcomic about librarians (for book nerds like me). Oh yes.

I'm also loving Rat Loves Cat. I warn you now, the video should be on cuteoverload.com. And this video made me laugh out loud. This one's pretty sweet - I like the guy's reasoning - if a dog, a cat and a rat can get along, why can't we? A little simplistic, perhaps, but sweet.

Oh yes. Finally, probably much to the disappointment of the ever-so-brave anonymous commenter from a few posts ago, (Note to said person: going through the commenting procedure solely to wish my hamster dead? That's just pathetic. Get a life.) Ten is still hale and hearty and currently, as I sit here, trying to surreptitiously eat her treats so that I will think she doesn't have any.
Anyway, here's a video of her that I took last weekend. The whole video runs to three minutes or so, but most of it is just her having a scuffle with the kitchen roll tube we put in her cage. The real comedy gold is at the beginning. Hamster FAIL!

Ding dong, The Hair is dead...

Oh yes. I haven't had hair this short for nearly eight years. I was just sick of it, really. It took so much shampoo and conditioner. It took two hours to dry after a shower. I was sitting on the bus on Friday, and I just came to a decision. So I cut it off when I got home.

Me before:

Me now:
I like it.

Slip inside the eye of my mind...

I can't believe I just misquoted Oasis for that title. I feel dirty now.

Anyway, have some random!

I'm not a look-alike! is pretty cool. Not people who are related. Just people who look like each other.
More images here.

If I had money, I'd be buying this cap in black. I adore it.

Matt and I have another of THOSE conversations:

We were discussing how one should never bite a mussel in half and then look at it, as it's all made of tubes inside...

F: Why do you suppose they're all made of tubes?
M: I dunno. It's how the creator made them, I guess.
F: I always thought of the whole 'creator' thing as a sort of franchise.
M: What, like there's one person who is in charge of tubular creatures? Mussels and tubeworms?
F: Yeah, pretty much. "Why do I have to just do the tubes?"
M: (as the creator of cats, to the supervisor) Well, why can't I have checks? I've done loads of spots, and I've done stripes. Why can't I have checks?
F: (supervisor) Because the humans won't accept the checks. You remember... humans. We have them planned for the long-term. You were at the meeting.
M: But...
F: No. They'll accept spots and stripes as random, but check is different. AND plaid. AND tartan. Nice try.
M: (muttering) It's not tartan. It's crosshatching.
F: Sorry?
M: It's crosshatching. It's a way of shading to make a picture look 3D...
F: I know what crosshatching is. This is not it. It's all messy. Really... I mean, look at Dave there. Sure, he's stoned quite a lot, and he gets a little slapdash with the colours, but he still gets the job done.
M: (muttering) Oh, Dave gets to be stoned. Dave is somehow special...
F: Dave doesn't suggest tartan for the songbirds. I mean... *sigh* that really makes all the difference.

Yeah, I know.
*sigh*

Lastly, this picture made me laugh. (WARNING: May only make sense to British viewers.)