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It may be the cabin fever induced by the foot of snow that has driven me inside for the past 10 days, or possibly the natural winding down of the year bringing on unwanted self reflection, but I’ve been in a funk lately. Saturday was a pity party, and everyone was invited. My thought process mainly operated along this line: “Stacey is the saddest girl in the world and everyone should feel bad for her. Is everyone feeling bad for her yet? It’s highly recommended that you do. Stacey is considering wearing too much eyeliner and listening to Morrisey so everyone will know she is to be pitied when they see her.” Blern.
As a result, I’ve been breaking out the big guns of happiness and surrounding myself with things that give me a smile, like The Neverending Story and the cast recording of Cabaret. Strange German puppetry and showtunes really are a sure way to cheer me up at any time. I was beginning to meditate before I moved from Las Vegas and wasn’t able to carry on my practice while living at my brothers house, due to the infestation of screaming babies, so now that I have my own wee space, I think I’ll make it a point to set aside some time to think about nothing. Meditating calmed my rampant anxiety at that time, and although I’m not an insomniac like I was in April, I can only see the benefit of clearing my head now. I think a steady cocktail of weird movies, zingy tunes and OM will straighten me right up.
Sharp left turn.
I’m not able to get my little nephews their Christmas presents before Thursday, due to the piles of snow on the roads between Portland and Oregon City, so the little dudes will have to wait for a bit to get their gifts. And we all know that what every little boy wants this year is a gingerbread man ornament. I hope they aren’t damaged by the disappointment.
I improved my earlier design with the same eyes I used on the nesting dolls and the little red cheeks, so I’m much happier with the faces. And the letters represent the name of the little boy each gingerbread man belongs to, L for Lil L and D for Baby D. Wouldn’t want any fist fights over these. Sorry, boys, Auntie Stacey is broke sauce this year.
I whipped up some more nesting dolls, for C’s mom and aunt. They’ve pretty much been surrogate family since I’ve been up here, buying me enormous wooden fork and spoons and food when I moved, along with kidnapping me for major holidays. In my world, that earns you a felt ornament.
Well, it earns you a felt ornament if you live in the Northwest. Anyone residing out of driving distance (which is about a 3 block radius as of now) gets my love. And what did C get? ::tapping fingertips together in a suspicious manner:: You’ll just have to wait.
