Well "Sinead O'Rebellion." Shock me shock me shock me with that deviant behavior.

I don't hear people muse about the amazingness of the late 90s very often, which makes sense on a logical level... it wasn't an epic time period, really, except to the people who were the right age at the right time. I dropped out of high school in 1999 (I could say I graduated, but that isn't true. However, it would have been the year of my graduation had I desired to be there and/or put in any effort whatsoever), and I hold this time period near and dear to my heart. The colors I dyed my hair, the tweed slacks I thrifted, the horribly produced music videos, the friends I had... frozen in time and looked at through the rosy filter of nostalgia - it was wonderful.

The summer of 1997 stands out especially; I was in a band, a real bonafide band. We were only together for a couple of months and never actually played a gig, but we had a complete and utter BLAST. We kind of had a surf/ska thing going on, but without a horn section. You worked with what you had in a small town and my guess is that there were no trumpet players eager to join a crappy band that practiced in an empty rental house owned by the bass player's grandparents. It all started when I was taking drivers ed (I still cannot believe that this is not offered through the school anymore, atleast not in the PNW. You have to enroll in a privately owned driving school now and it costs like... money. This is just bizarre.) and I started hanging out with this kid named Kevin. I was in the school choir with his girlfriend and knew a lot of the same people, but didn't really get to know him until that summer. He had this band with 3 of his friends, but they were looking for a lead singer. Upon hearing this I cornered him and started singing Trapped in a Box by No Doubt... not my best moment. And certainly not the best song a vocalist can pick to showcase their talent, but I desperately wanted to be perceived as super cool and I could do a pretty good Gwen, so it got me in the band.

Practice was good times. Plain and simple. We came up with some of the most ridiculous songs - a surf-punk anthem about being a kid (complete with references to chicken mcnuggets, geoffrey the giraffe, and orange soda), a cover of Hey Mickey, but with the lyrics changed to "hey Stevie, you're a bitch. Hey Stevie. Hey Stevie." (all about a girl at our school who was hell-bent on making my life miserable. She was a real gem.), and some random riffs. The best thing about our silly little band, however, was our name. Sultans of the Latrine. SOL. I mean, c'mon... what the fuck does that even mean? I didn't nit-pick about it, since I was the last person to join the band and they came with the name, but man... if we'd ever actually played any gigs, that name would have been out of there. I'm not even sure how one comes up with such a name. Then again, Kevin's next band was at one point called Slave-Owner-Worm. Would you like to know why? Master-Bait. For real. And we thought these type of things were clever. But we were also smoking a bit of pot and were high on life and the fact that we were actually in a band. This will do things to your perception.

Lexi and I in Victoria, repping the end of an era. Blue sparkly eye shadow, bindis worn ironically, thrifting for t-shirts in the little boy's section, checking out guys in baggy jeans and wallet chains...

Sometimes I'll watch old videos or put on songs or pull out my old school notebooks (plastered with pictures of Billy Corgan, Bjork and Mike Ness, natch) and get all wistful about the good old days. I'm barely a decade out of those times, but they feel warm and fuzzy and smell of curly fries and maple bars... and musty racks of used clothes.

walking in a winter... minefield.

The holidays were seriously fucking weird this year. Right? Am I the only one? It was more exhausting than usual, everyone was super worried about money and the economy (and rightfully so. what a mess.), the season seemed to come out of nowhere, it made my brain hurt, and made everyone a wee bit grumpy. I found myself overwhelmed and run down for about 95% of the festivities... I even ended up spiraling into a depressive episode that was thankfully very brief, but threw me for a loop, nonetheless.

Regardless of how hectic everything felt, it was a good holiday season and I can't help but marvel at what a fantastic life I have. We got to see family and friends and sup together and commune and fellowship and whatever else you want to refer to it as... I'm just so ridiculously appreciative of what we've got going. It's really really good.

One of the perks of being settled into the house is that we got to host Xmas morning brunch. Eggs, bacon, sourdough bread, pecan rolls, cinnamon rolls, egg and ham casserole, lots and lots of coffee. It's so wonderful to be blessed with the space to entertain. I kept having to turn the heat up, forgetting that other people actually turn their heat on when they're cold. Imagine that! We're those people - the ones who put on three pairs of socks each morning and wear scarves inside the house and put tons of extra blankets on the bed and use the interwebs with our fingerless gloves on. It's not that the house is freezing or anything, we're just really cheap and are terrified that our power bill is going to skyrocket. So far, the most expensive it's been (for the month of November, when there was half a foot of snow on the ground at one point) was $130-ish. Having come from apartment living for several years, we panicked a bit. Then we mentioned the bill to Seth's dad... yah. That's like, freaky cheap for a 1,200 sq foot house. We've got some wiggle room to work with and don't have to bundle up so ridiculously. This isn't soviet Russia.

I'm wearing those handy fingerless gloves as I type this. I think I've got the worst circulation in the world or something, because I'm still cold. And tired. And I have heartburn (that's neither here nor there, man). I've been napping a lot, drinking a lot of water, and spending as much time as possible doing mindless and enjoyable things to help myself recover. I have no idea if we're doing anything for NYE, seeing as Silas will be at his dad's house and we'll have the night free and open for whatever. I guess we'll just see what happens and hope that whatever we end up doing comes as a release rather than another thing to exhaust us.

It's like winter exploded in here.

I've got the joy joy joy joy down in my heart! Where?

I know myself. I know myself well. I would be willing to bet just about anything that if I didn't have the cloud of Bi-Polar II hovering above me at all times, that I'd still be one of the most neurotic people you've ever met. I spend a lot of time beating myself up, dwelling on past mistakes, and worrying about what a complete and utter mess I am as a human being. This makes it hard to actually do the work of fixing that mess. Also, I think that my neurosis do a good job of blowing my mess out of proportion. It's cyclical, y'know.

Life is a series of moments all strung together. From what I can see, your average functional person takes each moment as it comes and does the best they can with it. Sometimes they fail, sometimes they don't do anything at all, sometimes they are amazing... but the moment passes and their life keeps going. I tend to view my life in a highly conceptual way. It's all big picture with me, no individual moments (unless, of course, we're talking about the moments in which I feel I failed, those are definitely seen). The parenting and coexisting failures tend to stick to my sides like static cling. I find it near impossible to let them go and move about the business of continuing to live my life.

Sometimes being a highly self-aware and neurotic person is a gift, but most of the time, it's a fucking millstone. My life is amazing. I never thought that this many of the pieces would have fallen into place before the age of 30. There is only one thing missing from my current life that would bring me up to the 100% mark of living my dream (and predictably, that thing is another child). I have lived through so many things: damaging friendships, poverty, becoming a mother incredibly young and dealing with postpartum depression, bi-polar disorder, extreme unhappiness with my circumstances, jobs that sucked out my soul, a lonely and invalidated childhood, a volatile marriage, the list goes on... and there is one thing I've learned - There is a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is a mood or a feeling. It comes from being pleased with the way things are going. Joy... joy is a different animal entirely. It's the knowledge, deep inside of yourself, that everything is going to be ok. The knowledge that circumstances mean very little in the grand scheme of things and that life is good and we're lucky for living it. It's a broad and sweeping contentment. Basically, easier said than done when you're a neurotic mess with a mental illness. I know I've had the joy before, I know it exists. For some people the joy is rooted in spiritual belief or faith, for some it's rooted in confidence in themselves and their ability to survive, for some... it's just natural and they don't even have to think about it existing - it just is. I think I've kind of lost the joy.

just look at all of that unbridled joy!

So that's a lot of where I've been. I'm working on tackling the individual moments, functioning to my full ability, and chasing the joy. Come back here, joy, Imma git you.