What’s Left

It’s been a long, dark, and damp (if not, drenched) winter in the Pacific Northwest. Many friends have expressed everything from annoyance to pure hatred toward our recent weather behavior. They’ve questioned their decision to move to this far corner of America, asked for advice about the best “happy light”, expressed wanting to fry under said happy light, and explained how this winter has brought out a level of S.A.D. we just didn’t think would exist. It’s so bad people are almost self-diagnosing themselves as depressed. So far, the people I know are okay and are managing as best as they can.

Though I consider myself a native, I have never really fully appreciated the grey season (which is about 6-9 months of the year, depending on science). I have expressed a spectrum of emotions about how it feels like I’m in a rain cloud prison. With what little energy I can muster I’ve found that reaching out to friends is good. Getting together with them is better. Sun lamps can kind of help. Taking a vacation to the desert is better. But this is all a roundabout way to say that creativity can take a back seat to pure sadness and lethargy (bears get to call it hibernation). This is all to say that my editing process has be skewing more dark and delicate than usual.

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These tulip petals say a lot about how I’ve been feeling both physically and mentally: drained, dropped, and working in a shallow-depth-of-field.
March 13, 2017

Birth. Life. What is going on?

I’m experiencing infant over load. It’s not a bad thing. They’re cute. Two close friends of mine have infants. One was born this past week. They’re so tiny at first. Then they work on their caloric intake and start chubbing up. Their neck muscles start to kick in, and you aren’t so afraid their heads will lop off that instant where you lose a little grip when holding them.

Babies cry. They are taking in all this information with their big eyes. One moment it’s darkness, it’s warm, their ears hear sounds in muffled tones (I’m imagining this. I have no idea what it’s like to be completely aware in a womb). Then it’s bright, loud, cold, and who are all these people? What is going on?!

Waaaaaa!

Life is tough. Even when we’re babies we’re fighting reality. We’re flexing every muscle to be heard and screaming our heads off to be understood. Somebody hold me! Somebody comfort me! Somebody feed me! Somebody tell me it’s going to be alright!

Waaaaaa!

Then the hushing starts. The swaddling. The bouncing. The dancing. Sometimes it works and other times it doesn’t. But when it does the cooing starts. The eyelids weigh heavy, and there is some time before that baby stress attack happens again. I really don’t see it as any different when you’re an adult. You just manage it a little better; and the moments between cries is further apart.

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