Yellow and navy is much better than green and navy, Seahawks.
Sweater: Anthropologie (old), tank: Gap, Pants: J. Crew Factory
I’ve been a little bit down. Not, like, “OMG UP THE DOSAGE OF ALL THE MEDS!” down. Just…meh. Tired. Sleepy. Meh.
So, in order to combat the mehs, I’ve compiled a few things that are making me happy right now.
I’m leading with the best, first. I really, really love big underpants. You knew that already. LOVE. So comfy. Super sexy, too. What’s more sexy that underpants that hit your top rib and your knees at the same time? ALMOST NOTHING. Except NEW really big underpants. SCORE.
Rosie’s Instagram. Sigh. So great. I want to live in Bristol now. With Rosie. That won’t be weird, right, Rosie?
My hair kind of fits into little pig tails. Ignore the dead look in my eyes and my terrible profile and my gray hair and my makeup-less face. Please.
This book of postcards is coming to me. I am thinking of making a postcard wall. Or sending postcards. Or looking at them. One of those, definitely.
New slippers that I got ON SALE. Almost as dead sexy as those underpants.
Naps. The fact that my life now allows for naps.
Anything you have to share that’s making you happy?
This is a question I get asked frequently by people in real life, but my real life self doesn’t have a FAQ page. But my blog does! (Looks up. Wait, no it doesn’t.) So!
The short answer: no.
The long answer: eh.
I guess the long answer and the short answer were the same length.
Well, the long answer is really that chickens are not that much work, especially if you already have a coop or buy one from someone. The eggs are much better, both for the chickens and for the environment. You will always have eggs. (I just typed, “You will always have legs.” That too.) If you have a big family or eat a lot (I mean A LOT) of eggs, and have room in your backyard for it, sure. Go for it.
I clean the coop once a week in the winter, and one-two times a week in the summer. I refill their food and water a few times a week. We clip their wings (chickens can fly, FYI) about…well, we’ve clipped them once.
So, the question you’re now asking is, “This doesn’t sound so bad, Shalini? Why not?”
WELL. 1. Chickens are assholes. One of them pecked Sachin in the eyeball. EYE. BALL. When he was four, and playing in the backyard leaving her alone. If you try to introduce a new hen, sometimes for funsies they kill her because they don’t like her. We call those chickens “George Zimmermans.”
The number of times we’ve had to sequester chickens for pulling out other chickens feathers…this is really it. CHICKENS ARE SUCH ASSHOLES. They are such assholes that I have actually said multiple times, “I understand debeaking.” You’d debeak George Zimmerman, too, admit it.
1b. Chickens, therefore, make chicken owners assholes. Ignorance is bliss.
2. Chickens are dumb. No, really. The number of times they fight over the same piece of bread when thirteen other pieces are scattered in their yard just proves this. (Humans are dumb in this way, too.)
3. You will get sick of eggs.
For a while, anyway. And then you’ll have lots of eggs you have to eat anyway. You’ll get over it and eat them.
I love eggs, and if it wasn’t for my own chickens, I probably would give up on eating eggs entirely because of the environmental impact and horrific conditions blah etc blah, so I continue to put up with the ridiculous assholes. BUT THEY’RE SUCH ASSHOLES.
All that said, yeah, we’re probably going to have chickens forever. Because we’re dumb assholes and we deserve each other.
I am positively meh about this outfit. Oh well. Clothes were worn. Libraries were librarianed in it. (It is approximately ten billion degrees in the library I was at this morning, thus no sweater.) I am a little tiny bit sleepy. Meh. My hair is a little Sideshow Bob this morning. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo that says, “Die Bart Die!” to commemorate this day.
I went through a bunch of drugs, and this one makes me feel like the person I was a long, long time ago. It makes me feel…not normal, because we all know I’m not normal, but like life is fun again. I pair this with a high dose of SAM-e. I tried to cut out the SAM-e and the second day of a reduced dose I woke up having a panic attack. So. SAM-e still helps quite a bit.
2. Eating less junk food
I’ve been cutting up celery and carrots to snack on during the day with honey roasted almond or peanut butter, or hummus. It makes me less sleepy than eating chips or cookies, even though I am still an advocate for chips and cookies. Just maybe not all the time.
I am trying to take a long walk every single day. It helps that I have a dog that I make very happy when I do this.
4. Writing About Good Things
I don’t know if you noticed, but I am trying to be less angsty here. I read somewhere, a long time ago, that frequent journalers are unhappier than those who don’t navel-gaze. I don’t know if it’s true for everyone, but it sure seems to be true for me. I am not saying that I don’t talk about the hard stuff, but I am trying to focus less on that and more on my ridiculous kids and my great husband and making as many jokes about life as possible when I can.
I am also writing about good things that I want to happen to me, pretending they’ve already happened, to get the good feelings. Like, if I wanted to get a job, I would write about getting a job offer and what I felt like. It’s a little woo-woo, but it helps me focus less on the “I don’t have anything I want! *foot stomp*” and more on how great my life already is. It makes me want less and act more.
I did not write about that well at all. Sorry. I done no good. If you have questions about this, email me. I’d be happy to talk about it in more detail if you’re interested.
5.Taking time for myself
What I mean by this is that instead of taking time every evening when I collapse in a heap after I’m completely spent, I purposely plan for fun things. Tubing, shopping, baking, date nights, making time for friends, restaurant nights, vacations, etc. I make plans. Plans are happy-making.
6. Reading less
You guys, I said this last year and a bunch of you asked why I would do this, but sometimes I read too much. TOO. MUCH. I am purposely trying to read less. It helps that I’m kind of burned out on romance novels for the time being and I’m reading some literary fiction, which is…sloooow. And boring. And slow.
I hope this helps, and I hope you know that I still have bad days even though I share them less. I do. I don’t imagine a time in my life when I won’t struggle with this, but I figure this is all a process. Want to share something that helps you?
Don’t be jealous, but our local bum asked me out, probably because of this outfit. He may have also called me “Mary Tyler Moore lady.” Those sweet talking alcoholic diabetics with gangreney toes. They get me every time with their words.
(Yes, I took a photo of myself in the bathtub. Several. This is the only one that made the cut. I’m trying to get better at photography, remember? I figured since I’m still talentless, I’d distract you with quirk. I have a lot of quirk. That’s why my hair is wavy. All that quirk. I’m working on stealing some talent. Coming soon!)
On the airplane
“Why does Keshi get two armrests and I only get one? No fair!”
“You’re going to have to share the one in between you two, okay?”
a few minutes later
“1, 2, 3, 4. Switch! 1, 2, 3, 4. Switch! 1, 2, 3, 4. Switch!”
“Uh, what are you two doing?” They continue to count and move their arms on and off the armrest between them.
“We’re sharing the armrest. Like you said.”
After I hurt my back
“I feel a hundred years old.”
“You mean you feel like you’ve lived a long life and beat the odds and feel incredibly lucky?”
They do not get their oddness from me. It’s all their father. Who dressed up as the Baby Jesus in our family Nativity play. The baby Jesus is an environmentalist and wears cloth diapers. FYI.
Photo Credit: Jack Pabis (What’s Jack’s URL?)
I was the cow/narrator. Double threat. One of my nieces was the well-known, Biblical sea turtle that traveled to visit the newborn Jesus (lower right, sea turtles sometimes get stage fright and hang with the three kings, one of which wears a giant polka dot green onesie).
(He might divorce me for posting this. We shall see!)
I got these boots last week, and I wasn’t sure I could pull them off. But I am totally pulling them off. I feel very Ted Mosby circa Not This Season Dear God Or Last Season Either in them. I even wrote about them on Instagram. I said, “When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right now. That’s how I feel about these boots.”
The rest of the outfit was put together in the “it’s on the top of the pile! I’m late! Go!” way. I think I did okay. I feel a little bit like this is how I would dress if I woke up and discovered for the very first time that I had breasts. Or if my husband dressed me.
Also, please don’t tell my mom that I wore black tights with a brown skirt with red boots. She already thinks I dress like a hobo. Or a Hobbit. I’m not sure. I wasn’t quite listening.