You know you're addicted to DI shopping trips when you're up early and feeling disappointed that you have to wait until 9:00 to actually go to the silly thrift store. That is how I feel.
Of course, I'm not surprised that I'm a DI addict. I am. Several years ago I admitted my habit to a neighbor who then proceeded to go get a copy of the LDS 12 step program and read off all the steps. I was entirely laughing at him, but he kept going and I'm pretty sure he was serious. I mean, apologize to the people I've hurt with my DI shopping? Whom have I hurt? I dunno.
In any case, a couple days ago I saw a dress at DI that I vetoed at the time, but now I have changed my mind after reading instructions in my online sewing class for resizing and modernizing a vintage dress. Yeah. I want the dress now. And as soon as it is 9:00, I'm going to go after it, and I hope it is still there for me to buy.
I made these bibs for some friends of ours who are expecting a little girl in September, and I hope they like them. I am learning so many cool things in the sewing class I'm taking! It's exciting.
When I was in serious therapy, sometimes I was too deeply depressed to open up to my counselor about what was bothering me, so he would give me some paper and some colored pencils and ask me to draw something. The original idea was that if I felt too threatened to say something, I should draw a picture of it instead. But for some reason the act of drawing helped me relax enough that I was able to talk to him and start telling him things again. He said he loved watching me create because it changed my whole demeanor when I was making something.
That was years ago, but I find that when I'm struggling with a severe bout of depression, I can choose to either wallow or...create. The wallowing is easy. You just sit on the couch with the TV on and think about how much you hate your life. Then you cry. Getting up and going through one's fabrics, reading pattern instructions, scouting out the ironing board and iron that your husband put "away," that's harder. It requires me to concentrate on something other than the hopeless void of reality.
Knowing all of this, and also being aware that sewing is a lot cheaper than additional therapy without insurance, I used my final paycheck to spring for an online sewing class. The class is for beginners, and I feel like I'm probably at the intermediate level, but I will be learning a few new techniques and getting out of my comfort zone a little. And it gives me something useful to do. Like make the little quilted pincushion pictured above.
My favorite thing about this class is that it teaches sewing without a pattern, which is really fun. It's kind of like extreme crafts. Also, there's something automatically soothing about the sound of the sewing machine motor, maybe because this very sound provided background noise for my entire childhood, as my mother is an expert seamstress and sews all the time.
My goals for tomorrow are to complete the shopping bag project for class and dig out the rough draft of my book and get the first chapter revised and uploaded onto webooks. Yeah. Tomorrow.
Majestic Mountain Sage has fired me, and it hurts. I feel like I haven't been doing very well at all since we arrived in Utah. I feel like I don't belong here. There is something about me that many Utahns just don't like, but they seem unable to really define it. I would really like to ge back to Washington, with its culture of diversity and acceptance and courteous drivers. I held a job there for three years.
It makes me sad! I really liked working there. I was going to buy a lot of stuff from them to make christmas presents. Now? I don't really want to have anything to do with them. There's not much I could do, that would fit in with my personal code of ethics, to let MMS know I don't like them. I suppose withdrawing my business would be as much punishment as I could muster.
So what did I do to get fired? I wasn't happy enough. I mean, I guess I can understand where they're coming from. I struggle with clinical depression, and since we came to Utah I've felt like I'm trapped in the low mood where everything hurts my feelings and I just can't seem to think clearly. But I was getting better because I HAD A JOB I LIKED. I was doing better.
Ugh. Now I will try to find volunteer work, I think. I'll try to get on unemplyment and focus on volunteering for awhile and try to get better before I reenter the jobhunting fray. I'll get a library card from the USU library and discover a wonderful selection of books to increase my vast knowledge of obscure details about...everything. I'll finally get down to studying for the GRE and just get it done no matter how much I dread the silly test. I'll take a sewing class. I'll go back for my Matser's Degree, since I feel like that's the direction in which my life is pushing me. And most importantly, I simply must write. I must write my books. I was three volumes into a series when I gave up to give my schooling my undivided attention, and now that I'm fully trained as a writer I must do so. Writing is the strongest impulse I feel. So I will, and this time I'm not kidding around. I'm going to finish my books and start the process of getting them published.
I confess -- I treat my husband as a sort of supermarket go-fer just because he works at Walmart. It's so convenient. All I have to do is text him. "If you bring home some ground meat I'll make meatloaf for dinner." Bam. Done. I don't have to brave the crowded Walmart with my sweaty, flushed, overheated, sore-footed self. I can just sit at home reading and the groceries come to me.
Here's another confession -- ever since I was introduced to the website, peopleofwalmart.com, I've been paranoid about going to Walmart without looking nice. I know. This is a weird fear. At one point I was looking at a picture on the site, and the caption read something along the lines of, "Haven't people figured out by now that someone is walking around Walmart taking pictures of them?" WHAT? Oh, no. And no matter how much Shayne assures me that I don't look like the people on the site, there's always this nagging sort of possibility that one day I may log on and be both outraged and mortified to see a picture of myself in my work clothes, stopping in for something quick on my way home from work. Yeah. I'm afraid someone with catch me wearing jeans and a T-shirt, as if that were normal.
But when Shayne works at Walmart? I just don't have to worry about it as much. And I like that a lot.
I like my new dress for the following reasons:
