The Office

I am a teacher.

Granted, I haven't actually helmed a classroom in almost 3 years now, but at my core it's something I'll always be.  How do I know this?  Because we bought a desk.

Allow me to back up a bit.  Our "Dream Home" came with the latest trend in architectural design: The Flex Room.  This room, the albatross in any new home, is meant to give the family more space and flexibility.  In our case it's a room at the front of the house, right beside the front door, with a beautiful arched entry, angled walls with cutouts and a huge triple window looking out onto our front veranda.  When our home was the show home, it was set up as a dining room, which fit well with the "chandelier" centred in the ceiling.  When our home became Our Home, it became the piano room.  Then it became the everything room.  In other words, EVERYTHING got dumped there.

Over the last few months, my significant other has been going through the long, arduous process of starting his own business.  Emphasis on debilitatingly slow.  My end of things: creating an office.  Which is likely the best roll for me because who doesn't love to decorate a new space?  Especially in an old one.  So I bought a desk, a used one, for $40.  And it's huge; fills almost the entire room.  Getting it home was just the catalyst we needed to light a fire under our asses to get that room DONE.  It arrived Sunday, today is Wednesday, and this afternoon I think I can actually say it's there.  Pretty much done.  I say pretty much because nothing in my home ever seems to reach the status of "complete".  

But I digress...

This afternoon we were working hard (watching "The League" on Shomi) when the 2:51pm bell rang.  And when I say bell, I mean the one across the street, at the school where 4 of our 6 children are currently students.  In our defence, we worked our butts off during the office transition, so we deserved some time with our feet up.  But the key is ensuring the children NEVER KNOW.  They must believe that we work non-stop so we have a handy excuse when they ask for things we don't want to do.  

Well, today the episode and the home bell were running neck in neck for the finish line.  I hopped to the window as the credits rolled and saw the kids approaching the house.  The race was on!  As I scampered down the stairs to beat them to the door, hoping to reach some stance of "looking busy" before it opened, I knew I wouldn't make it.  I had no choice, had to go with option 2, look like I'm skipping to the door to meet them after dropping what I was doing.  

Within minutes, the kids swarmed the new office and began barking out orders as the teacher, the principal, the students...already I can see myself in them.  But enough fun, kiddies, Mama's got work to do in her office.  Meaning I get the good chair and you get to run around putting things where I want them to go.  (See?  Always a teacher bossing kids around.)  Once everything is just in its place, I snap quickly into teacher mode and have the kids pull up a chair...it's supervised homework time.  And I am in the ZONE!  Reading, writing, math, bing, bang, boom; homework finished faster than ever before.  

Which means more time to PLAY!  Okay, I'll be the teacher and you guys be the students and...well, you get the idea.

Gonna love this office!

A Little Somethin' Called Crazy

It's time to talk Mental Illness!!

Further to my personal mission to make Mental Illness a topic we take out of the dark secret spot behind the skeleton in our closets and thrust it into the glaring white spotlight where we all can share, I give you my life as I live it.

Ebbs and flows are the twists and turns I find while I play this game of Depressionopoly. Much like the housing market, it's not something that can be evaluated in the short term. Overall, the market trend is up. Surprisingly, with the elimination of one of my "Magic Meds", I feel both mentally and physically better. I still have so far to go. Sometimes, the sun is a pinhead on the horizon, yet others it glows larger than the entire sky. Either way, I know it's there, and dark as life can get, I just remind myself that the sun will come.

Conversely, El Anxietico has tightened its grip on my life. At my worst, I find it impossible to walk out the front door. At my best, I'm able to do simple things involving minimal public interaction. What surprises and frustrates me the most about all of it is how beyond my control it seems to be. I'm mystified that someone of my intelligence and experience is afraid to leave home.

A little while ago, a close friend called me midday asking if I'd like to join her that evening at karaoke, one of my passions, and received my standard reply of I'll see how I feel. I ended to call only to be overtaken by a FULL ON panic attack, because of the THOUGHT of leaving the house (which we all knew wasn't going to happen anyway). To relax, I took my boy Banksy for a walk around the block and vomited midway. All of this because of a thought?? Seriously?

Lucky for me I have a couple incredible and supportive friends that have stayed with me along my trip through Crazyland, who patiently nudge me, and continue to invite me, and don't give up on me. 

And I'm not giving up on me either.  It may take babysteps, maternity wards full of them, but I'll get there.

Buy the Book?

They say "Don't Judge a Book by its Cover", but let's be real, how else does one choose a book?  This is how it works for me: I go in the store, see a book, maybe with nice cover art, pick it up and read the back.  Cover.  The back cover.  If I'm lucky, there's a blurb with a hint of what to expect.  If I'm not, I'll have to work a little harder, maybe even open the book.  *Gasp*

Now, I don't know about you, but I hate trying to choose a book.  But there is nothing better than the smell and feel of a new book.  In fact, I buy books just to own them.  It's called being a Bibliophile. Not nearly as dirty as it sounds.  But I love books, from cover to cover, and usually buy them new.  Which is expensive, especially if the words inside just don't work.  (Also, my uncle used to say library books gave you Polio - but I'm pretty sure he was teasing.)

If I look around the (bed)room where I sit, I see no fewer than 7 books, positioned on various surfaces, waiting.  Some are finished, a few are mid-read, and most are waiting for their turn.  And have been waiting for quite some time.  And might wait forever.

So how do you choose a book?

Author?  I have some favourite authors...Gillian Flynn, Miriam Toews, Alice Sebold are a few...but I don't find this to be foolproof.  Just like baseball, every at bat can't be a home run.  And not every book is worth reading.  The Lovely Bones was lovely.  The Almost Moon was almost good.  But not that great.  I was hoping the heroine would die and that can't be a good sign.  At all.

Subject? In the Spring, I got super interested in True Crime and read a whole bunch about famous murders and kidnappings.  I know, not the warmest topic, but kind of interesting in spite of myself.  Now, I'm not sure where they find the folks to write these books, but some of them couldn't pull off a "Dick and Jane".  I actually didn't finish a few.  And THAT is totally against my OCD.

Recommendation?  I trust most friends, some critics, occasionally my kids, but I'm so fickle my interests change faster than a tequila sunrise.  Yeah, that doesn't make sense, but I'm out of cliches.  I've had good suggestions and bad suggestions and ones that got me caught in a series.  Some blurbs are decent and some are just bullshit, and it's not like I'm on a first name basis with anyone reading books for a living.  John Green is okay but teens are annoying.  Which makes this method not reliable enough for me.

Oprah?  No.  Nevermind.

How do you choose a book?

I look at the cover.

Ready...Set...

Prepare to be wowed by the complex trivia you'll find within.