Deviant Dispatches

First of all, my postpartum depression post has quickly become the most viewed one I've ever written. You are all amazing - thank you for all the support. I hope that post has helped many of you in some way. Here's a bit of an expansion on that. I mentioned that I had two dreams that led to my decision to take meds; they were so vivid and spoke so clearly that I still recall them in detail seven months later. The First Tickle was two and a half months old, and I couldn't admit to myself yet that I was experiencing PPD. And then I dreamed. I saw a drawing. That was it: a simple drawing that could have been a cartoon clipped out of a newspaper. It was an alphabet quilt, colored in brown scale on a bright white background. Each square of the quilt was its own letter, with a corresponding animal family: A for alligator, B for bear, and so on. But in each panel, one parent played energetically with the child and smiled happily, while the other parent sat by themselves t...

Let me preface: I love my daughter. I have loved her since Day 1 (however you might measure that). I'm continually amazed at all the things about her - from the way she stared at everything so intently the moment she was born to all the shifts and changes as she's become a different person over the last nine months. She's incredible and studious and smart and adorable and (yes) perfect. I thought (hoped) it was just hormones at first. Then I thought it was just trouble adjusting to this big life change. Then I called it by its true name (at least, in my head) and tried to ignore it, and then hoped it would go away on its own. I'm sure many other mothers do this too. I felt so guilty for having postpartum depression. I also felt angry for so many reasons: I couldn't figure out how to do it right (because surely I was doing it wrong). Spousal Unit had (still has) a different parenting style than me and we had trouble compromising (largely because of the...

Every day, the sun sets. Right now, I can think of a dozen poems and a dozen poets right for the occasion. But I have no words of my own. It's one of those times when I'm glad for other writers in the world - people who've been there before me, to give voice to feelings I can't articulate. Their efforts are a soothing balm in difficult times, though they can't heal on their own. I could go on. I could consider the cyclical nature of life, delve into memory, pound out words with a soft fury that I don't understand. But the most peaceful thing right now is in knowing that the sun will set today, just like it has for millennia past. Not everything has changed. But enough has. *** I wrote the above a week ago, the day my grandma passed away. In some ways, it's still unreal. In others, I'm both relieved for her and devastated for everyone who loved her. Since then, I've been to her visitation and funeral and seen first hand all the lives she...

Over the weekend, I had to do relatively little, and it was wonderful. There was Star Trek to be watched (though not enough), a museum to visit, a devastating Packers game to watch, and a few errands to do. I got to read more than I have in quite a while, and when the TV was on, I managed to quell my desire to multitask - instead, I just sat and enjoyed. Unfortunately, at the end of yesterday night, I was thrown nearly into a panic and rushed around the house tidying like a cyclone in reverse. It was a feeling that if I woke up to a messy apartment, I would turn into a puddle of emotional goo; it was the proverbial straw ready to break my back (...okay, I guess I'm the camel in this metaphor. That's fun.). A clean apartment would keep me sane, and the cleaning process would calm my meltdown from Chernobyl levels to oh-crap-this-cheese-is-moldy levels. The thing is, the apartment wasn't even that messy, and at the end of it, I hadn't crossed off anything on my to-...

I'm not used to working a full week, but I'm in the midst of one right now. I don't usually complain about working a "whopping" 40 hours, and I know lots of people who work more than that in a week. But my leg and back pain, combined with moving and organizing an entire bookstore, results in a sore body and sore mind. I'm so done with thinking for the week, and it's only my Wednesday. What this means is I'm not planning to think too much the rest of the week, so here, instead of witty commentaries, dry banter, and sharp analyses, you're going to get mass ridiculosity. I hope you can tolerate that for a week - I sure as hell won't have a problem with it. For example... - Here's a thneed someone knitted. A thneed, as you know, is a thing that everyone needs . - A Silly Song, featuring Larry and some pirates - A few terrible tattoos and some wonderful ones A cat picture A knitted angler fish - And a totally hilariou...

The recent trend in Jobs That Will Totally Humiliate You seems to be standing out on the street corner in a costume for some business or another. That costume may or may not relate to the business, but throughout the summer, one thing is certain: the person inside it will likely have their brains fried to a crisp. One of the most high-profile street costumes is actually nothing more than a cardboard guitar, and it might be the least humiliating. Little Caesar's pizza sends their underpaid teenagers (and the older employees, too) out to the street corner to play something one step above an air guitar, decked out in a very fancy safety vest. The guitar says something about $5 pizzas, or extra breadsticks, or where to get a good bag of crack. I'm not sure, because when people are playing that guitar like mad, it's kind of impossible to actually read. Didn't think that one through, did ya, Caesar? A few blocks down from one of the pizza places is a tax place which, du...

I have a new job. Same dance, new song: I'll still be working at a bookstore, but it's a primarily new bookstore instead of a primarily used bookstore. No more books that smell like cigarettes and mold, no more fun discoveries of bugs and underwear in book boxes, no more offering customers 50 cents for nice copies of Walden and Emily Dickinson. No more throwing books away like they're last week's leftovers. I will miss certain things, certain people, certain perks; that is the nature of change. The new job is part-time, at least for now. This means I'll be developing a regimen for novel work and exercise, to be focused on daily (or very, very often). Hopefully, I can get myself and my novel whipped into shape. (Don't worry; I'll still post terrible book covers for you whenever they come my way.) Unfortunately, this also means some degree of insanity in the next several months, yet again. I've already had my first couple of freak-outs about the new...

I'm a bit preoccupied today with my new case of holy-crap-this-is-obnoxious back pain (a.k.a. pinched nerve again ), so instead of writing a normal post, I'm going to share other people's creativity with you. Enjoy, and I hope these things give you lots of ideas. But I hope they don't land you in jail. Because if you combine some of these, they totally could. Jenny the Bloggess bought a wolf pelt to wear. To the new Twilight movie. I hope she claimed at least once that it was Jacob. An adorable video of a blind kitten playing with toys, yoinked from my friend Finnley's blog. ...Followed by my favorite reptile store ever. Reptile Rapture is the pet shop equivalent of a hole-in-the-wall greasy burger joint. They're right next to a bar (and a tattoo parlor, I think), which I think must have led to some bad decisions in the past. Also, there's a buy one, get one free coupon for them in the Bucky Book, Madison's source for all things discounted. Yes, the coup...

It is my firm belief that all suffering is relative. Everyone experiences pain in their lives. No matter who they are or where they live, something will make them experience some sort of anguish. The source of that anguish varies. Children around the world suffer because they don't have enough to eat and go to bed hungry every night. Some people are entirely alone in the world, having lost their whole families and everything that mattered to them. Others have lost their jobs and had to give up their homes, and it kills them inside to see their children adjust to a smaller home, a different school, and losing their friends all at once. In that short list, only the hungry children face deadly suffering. But that doesn't make the person who lost his whole family feel the pain any less. It still hurts just as acutely, and is probably the greatest pain he's ever known. The mother who lost her job can still afford a place to live, thanks to her spouse's income, but she dies a...