What In The World and Are Those Caterpillars?

I have long suspected that there is something different, something special and unusual, about what draws a person to become a blogger.

That's my opinion and my opinions are just that ... my opinions. And who am I but a lady who stays home with her kids and yet, I say, bloggers are off the beaten path. They search for something else, something more ... there's not enough for them in one world, they need another one. They search for community, opportunity, a bigger place to play than that of their own backyard.

Some day, just give yourself 30 minutes, blindly blog hop, and you will come across indescribable varieties of posts. Artists, photographers, foodies, poets, home decor, knitting, memoirists, aspiring authors, tech mamas, humorists, collectors, product reviews, cat lovers, social do-gooders.

And the ones like me: just looking for others that came from the same planet.

Too many times to count, throughout my days, I have wished to be in a village of bloggers like me: those whose mother spaceship ricocheted off course and crash landed here eons ago. I have days where I just want to be among my kind. Where I know no matter what shenanigans I pull, you will all get it. No questions asked, just nodding acceptance. I imagine that's what this village would be like, a land of  instant understanding, no explanation required.

Too many times in my day, I long to walk out into that village, like tonight.

I've told you before about my seasonal depression. I've come up with all sorts of mini-weapons in my arsenal to fend off that snarling black dog. One of my not so secret weapons is tiny little self-improvement projects. (Please don't get ahead of me here.)

Seasonal depression strikes fast with a punch that's hard, deep; and it doesn't wait for it to be an opportune time for you. It doesn't wait until you're under a warm, snuggly blanket at home, resting in front of a crackling fire, surrounded by those you love, and who love you.  Seasonal depression descends upon you when it decides to. By throwing its 500-pound weight straight at your head. It knocks you out with the swooping force of surprise and with a grip so tight you feel like you're trying to swallow a hard boiled egg. With no glass of water.

In my case, that foul spirit swept down on me yesterday, suffocating me with its impenetrable dark cloak, as I unsuspectingly grocery shopped for my family. My plan was to make a wonderful winter's day meal, and I couldn't wait to get back home and get started.

KA-POW ZING and HAHAHAHAHAHA, guess who wants to visit you?

Right in the middle of the cereal aisle. BAM. This wicked beast waited until I was happy and smiling to myself like an idiot, and then it came chomping down on my vulnerable grinning head. I was in Aisle #4, the cereal aisle, reaching for a box of Cheerios, and at that precise moment, the supermarket Muzak piped in with Wayne Newton's Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast.

Within seconds of hearing the lyrics Daddy, don't you walk so fast My darlin' cried Daddy, don't you walk so fast Daddy, slow down some 'cause you're makin' me run Oh, daddy, don't you walk so fast my entire field of vision was reduced to a blurry mess. And the free association that went on with that song?? Ho my god. My free association is the kind that prohibits me from EVER doing ANY kind of Stream of Consciousness post. 


With your well being in mind, I shall limit your exposure to only 20 seconds worth, but here it is:


What I listen to in my head all day:

Oh! It's that song...Daddy don't you walk so fast!
This song is killing me
I remember when they were so little.
How could they be teenagers all ready?
If only I knew then what I know now ...
I'd play Go Fish with them every dang time they asked
I can't believe I don't have babies anymore
What will I do when Alec is gone
I don't know if I can handle it
They used to love Cheerios.
And Cheerios necklaces.
And it was their favorite snack.
Xavier used to feed Cheerios to his talkingmatron Barney doll
In the high chair
And then he'd reach over and offer him apple juice from his sippy cup
Hold it together, woman
You gotta make it out of this store
You're in this aisle alone right now 
but you know any minute a cart's going to come around the corner
Oh sweet jesus I have to call my husband
No I can do this
No I can't - It's pretty bad
Quick. Snap out of it Snap out of it
Oh my gosh, LOOK!
Froot Loops too
Oh, they used to LOVE Froot Loops necklaces ...
How did it all go by so fast
::hic hic sputter hic hic::

You can't convince me seasonal depression isn't in kahoots with Muzak. 

One of the ways I fight back with that ugly monster SAD who takes advantage of a good, clean living woman like me, is to come up with a form of self-improvement. I treat myself to a new nail polish color, a new lipstick. If it's a particularly bad SAD episode -- it's all out with a new facial exfoliator.

I pushed my cart out of the hysteria inducing Aisle #4 cereal aisle and raced through as safely as I could until I reached my land of milk and honey, Aisle #7, Health and Beauty. I let out a big, deep breath.

As I took my time rolling out lipstick tubes and deciding which would be the color Prozac, my eyes fell upon the shelf on the other side of the aisle. They were promising youthful younger better faster over there.

I slid my shopping cart one section over. It was the hair-dye section. And there was a glorious smirking siren on the box cover beckoning me to come, join her hither, in the land of the avocado and coconut oil sheenness of it all. Ooooh ... she was good.

I picked up the box and put it on top of the Cheerios. Mama had big plans for tonight.

After I was home, groceries unpacked, dinner made, family watching the football game on TV, I took my rectangular sunshine in a box upstairs. Now, my hair color is fine ... it's my eyebrows that I really want to take back to their dark, youthful, lush days. [Exhibit A]

Ladies and Gentlemen: Eyebrow Exhibit A

Yes, I applied Midnight Raven #039 to my eyebrows.

Photo Credit

I know the box says Keep away from eyes.

But there was some Heavy Duty Major League SAD going on.

As my wonderful son, who sat through the ten minute brush-on process with me said in sincere hopes of providing comfort, "it doesn't look as bad in real life as it does in the mirror, Mom."
 
Yeah, Still - I sure could use a village of bloggers right now.
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