I’m crazy (about some things) and it’s totally okay.

Srsly…This is so totally, completely, the wrong way to keep eggs in a carton. Who does this?!?!

I was making myself an egg for breakfast yesterday and when I pulled the eggs out of the fridge, I knew before I even opened the carton something was wrong.

You see, Nathan had not only boiled some eggs for his salads for the upcoming week, he also made me breakfast in bed on Sunday¹. So…he was the last one to use the eggs.

And he didn’t use them in the right order.

I could tell as soon as I picked up the carton. The weight of the carton was off. It was all heavy on one side and totally weight free on the other side.

*le sigh*

I’d have to re-arrange the eggs before I made my breakfast.

As I opened the container, my youngest son walked in and watched as I re-arranged them. Then I took an egg out for my breakfast and stood there. Frozen. I was left with five eggs in an eighteen egg carton.

Kade tried soooo many ways to get the eggs to work for me while keeping them in the carton.

Sometimes talking out loud about a situation helps, so I started talking to myself about the egg situation. Trying to figure out a way to fit five eggs in an eighteen egg carton correctly. Noticing I had a pretty intense problem on my hands, Kade weighed in and tried to help me find a solution, although he looked at me strangely and simply said, “Just put the eggs in the carton, shut the carton, and put them in fridge.”

But there was no chance in the world that would happen.

See? This arrangement of eggs is PERFECT!


I know myself too well. Those unbalanced eggs would’ve bothered me for days, or at least until someone used another egg. There was only one real solution.

Put the five eggs in a bowl and recycle the egg crate.

Kade looked at me like I was crazy. So I said, “I’m crazy. And it’s totally okay.”

The eggs were placed in their new home and put back in the fridge, while I enjoyed a stress free breakfast.


¹What did Nathan make me for breakfast you ask? Poached eggs, wilted greens, and bacon. It was perfect. Except the whole using the eggs in the wrong order thing, but I think I can forgive him. ;)

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Crafts? Crap? Sometimes it’s all the same.

A couple weeks ago I started going through my crap-room. (“What’s a crap-room,” you ask? Well, it’s kind of like a craftroom, except you don’t really do crafts at the moment so stuff is just piled everywhere and because you don’t really use the room, you pile more than just craft stuff in there. You pile ALL THE THINGS in there until you pretty much have a room full of crap.)

Anyway, I was going through the crap-room and boxing up a bunch of craft stuff that I could honestly say I probably would never use. After I had it boxed up, I sent a message to a Facebook friend. You see, I promised her weeks and weeks ago that I’d give her the stuff I no longer wanted. The message was simple enough. Something like, “Hey. Here’s a bunch of craft crap I no longer want? Do you want it? You don’t have to say ‘yes’. Either way, no biggie.”

Of course she said she wanted it¹.

And then…..

The fucking anxiety hit. You see, I haven’t seen this person in over twenty-five years. I’m not the same person I was back then. She’s not the same person she was back then. And what if my anxiety of re-meeting her kills me?

I knew that if I didn’t immediately throw the boxes and bags into the car and get over there, I’d flake out and not bring her the stuff. I’m like that sometimes. My anxiety gets the best of me and people think I just flake out.

And you know what?

It was a wonderful visit. Her kids are nice. Their cats are nice. And she is simply amazing.²

¹I mean, who *wouldn’t* want boxes and boxes of craft stuff, right?!!?

²Of course I forgot to say polite things like “It was nice to meet you.” to the kids, and “Thanks for having me over.” But…hey at least I got out of the house, actually made it to her place, AND I’m pretty sure I didn’t say the word “fuck” one time. #winning

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Do you want the red pill or the blue pill?

Let’s continue this theme of keeping things real about mental health:

Even though the appointments with my new psychologist (I like to call her “Karin The Phsyco…therapist”) are going great, we’re all in agreement that I could really benefit from medication. So yesterday I had my first appointment with my new psychiatrist. We’ll call her “Marie” because that’s her name and I can’t come up with anything sassy to call her yet.

My first appointment with Marie went well, considering that it’s a bit unsettling to unload the “Readers Digest” version of your life to someone you just met. I ended up using that last of her kleenex¹ and we joked about how she should charge by the kleenex for her sessions. Just as I thought I had this appointment under control she said:

“If I could give you a pill, right now, that could do anything for you…what would it do?”

And that question took my breathe away.  blue red pills

I mean, I *know* that I’m in her office to get medication to help with my depression, but the frankness of the question really threw me off.

Because it sounded like a dangerous question.

Marie wasn’t asking me if I’d take a pill to bring about world peace or end poverty. She was asking me what that pill would do for ME. If she could give me a pill, right now, that would do ANYTHING FOR ME, what would it be?

After a bit of silence, she added that there wasn’t a wrong answer and that I could take my time. I’m pretty sure she lied about the first part. There had to be a right answer. And I know she lied about the last part. My insurance company wouldn’t pay her for hours upon hours as I sat there and figured out the right thing to say. After a few moments of my brain racing to try to figure out the right answer, this is all I could come up with:

“It would make me enjoy life again?”

I mean I should’ve probably said something like; “Make me smarter, sexier, thinner, richer, more popular”…but no, I spouted out “enjoy life again?” And yeah, I said it like it was a question. The appointment ended shortly after that. She sent my prescription² to Target and I left her office feeling unsettled, but ready for whatever help was to come.


¹I didn’t really take her last kleenex. She had a whole stash of Kirkland brand tissues behind her desk.

²Turns out my pills are neither red or blue, they’re kind of a brownish-yellowish-puke color. I guess we’ll find out in a few weeks if I answered the question right?


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Do you remember that *pinky promise* I gave to you back in November?

Yeah, I didn’t remember it either. It was back when I quit the “write a novel in a month thing” and decided I was going to do the “blog everyday for a month” thing, which I also quit. Which, if you know me, isn’t a surprise. I have all sorts of awesome plans in my mind that I never actually fulfill, BUT that’s a whole different blog post.

You know what I did like about one of those posts back in November? I liked this:

I want this space to be a place of acceptance, self-care, fun, laughter, creativity, and most of all self-exploration.

You see, this blog is good for me. And I need to remember that sentence up there and come here even when I’m in a dark and scary spot. Because the last few months have been a bit really dark and scary. (Don’t worry though¹. I’m “okay” even if I’m “not okay”.) Sure, I’ve written about The Deep Dark Hole before, but that was more situational than my general depression. Right now my general depression is kicking my ass. And because of brave people like:

  • My friend AM~Erica Says So, who continues to write about her struggles and has become such an activist for mental health
  • Wentworth Miller, who opened up about his depression when he stumbled upon a body shaming meme written about him.

Today I found myself the subject of an Internet meme. Not for the first time. This one, however, stands out from the…

Posted by Wentworth Miller on Monday, March 28, 2016



I am finding myself drawn to being more public about my struggles. It’s a scary thought. Being open with the world about how my mind struggles, even on the best of best days. I mean, some people who know me might not actually know just how much my mind struggles. I don’t want to scare them. But I need to remember, that this place here is good for me. Not just the good and fun times, but also the dark and scary times, right?


¹Plus, I’m interviewing a new therapist today. That should be fun?

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Hellz Yeah I’m The Mother Freakin’ Unicorn?

A couple weeks ago I blogged about the book Sparkle¹ and I mentioned that I got a job at a coffee shop² and how I pretty much love the job. I work with super great people and I’ve even figured out how to get our manager to let us wear tutus instead of ugly aprons…srsly…how freakin’ cool is that?!?!?

But just like any job, there are a few things that aren’t so cool. One of the those things is that we have to sell our brand’s specialty coffee. It’s a tough job. Most people who come to our store don’t buy coffee to brew at home. So our store has partnered up with the local hospital and Beyond the Yellow Ribbon in Chaska in an effort to let our customers donate coffee instead of buying it for themselves.

Our customers have done a fantastic job supporting the unicorn kimberlycancer center and our veterans with their coffee donations, but we’re all getting a little worn down with all the specialty coffees we need to unload. Last week I had a mini-brilliant idea and asked my manager how much coffee I needed to sell in order to wear a unicorn costume to work. She said ten pounds and I was all…HOLY CRAP! I GET TO BE A UNICORN AT WORK! I KNOW I CAN SELL 10 FREAKIN’ POUNDS!

And of course I sold over ten pounds.

And of course I get to be a unicorn at work next week.

I get to be a freakin’ unicorn…at work.



¹Um. I still haven’t finished that book. She kinda lost my in chapter three, but I *pinky promise* I’m going to pick the book up and finish it today. Really. I’m going to do it!

²It’s in our company policy that I should say something like “The views expressed in this post (and all past or future posts) do not reflect the company I work for. They are my own personal opinions. Blah blah blah…”

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