This is more interesting than anything I have to say

So I was going to write a "Confess and Assess: Sara Edition" post, but I can't find anywhere the paper where I wrote my measurements down, and heavens knows I am waaay too lazy to just take them again.

Instead, while I'm off searching through the random stacks of paper I have on every flat surface, read this article. It's about the boys' basketball team at a high school in a small town in New Brunswick, Canada. One of my very dear friends sent it to me, as that is the town she grew up in and the high school from which she graduated.

I kinda disappeared last week, because my mood spiraled into a pile of crap (figurative, thankfully) brought on, best I can tell, by the combination of hormones (ttom doesn't want to stick to any sort of schedule, it would seem) and my husband only being home for 3 days of the last month. Let me just say that there are days I handle his absences better than others. This past week was a few of the others. Reading that article though was a good reminder that maybe my life isn't as difficult as I sometimes seem to want to make myself think it is. Please don't think that, by posting this article, I am telling anyone to "suck it up" because their problems aren't "as bad" as this town's. I am a firm believer that you can't compare suffering (except maybe in extreme cases, i.e. hangnail vs. multiple organ failure--in that instance I might have to call you a whiner).

I am grateful whenever I find examples of people who carry on and succeed in the face of great difficulties. The circumstances may not be the same, but I think that we can gain something from stories like this to use to make our own lives better, even if it's just to give our loved ones an extra hug.

Couch Slug

Couch potato would be a little too healthy of a title for this entry. Potatoes do contain all that vitamin C, you know, along with other healthy stuff, perhaps minerals...or whatever substance it is that transforms them so magically into French fries with the help of a mere smattering of oil. Anyway, it probably isn't very self-affirming or loving to call myself a couch slug, but there really isn't a better way to describe how I feel each and every morning. My long-term and chronic feelings about mornings are a subject for an entire post of their own some other day, but today suffice it to say that whatever the opposite of a morning person is, I'm that. I don't know how I managed, once upon a time, to hold down a job that sometimes required that I arrive at work by 5:30am. My job now (mom: homestyle) doesn't require that I do more than shuttle one daughter out the door by 9am, make an Eggbeater sandwich for Skinnyman, and keep other daughter from running out of educational programming and cheese. Easy? Yes! Little, loud daughter (still trying to think of pseudonyms for the children) wakes up around 7, cheerful and ready to strew things about the house and talk without pausing for air intake for the next 13 hours. I, of course, jump up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (I'm not fat, I'm just bushy!) and complete the necessary household chores before working on my novel for a few hours. Or, I dreamt that, and what really happens is I drag my pillow and down blanket to the couch, stumble into the kitchen to find cereal for the little one, then collapse into half-slumber on the couch while she eats and watches creative and intelligence-building television. I get up to help school-going daughter find breakfast and clothes, then collapse again for about 20 minutes, get up once more to create a semi-tidy hairdo for her, hug her and shove her gently out the door. THEN I start the chores. Well, no. Back to the couch I go for at least a little while. Do I want to be like this? Kind of. No. But I literally can't fathom anything but those few small tasks and sleep before 10am. I haven't always been quite this bad, but I'm currently taking a very helpful anti-depressant that has the unfortunate side effect of zombifying me a lot of the time. I'm tired. Really tired. I even tried going to bed at a decent time once and that didn't help! This is a case of side-effects-are-an improvement-over-the-soul-numbing-depression. I've tried other drugs, but the sad truth is the ones that work well make me tired.
I have many ideas for overcoming my couch addiction, but an idea that seems really goodandeffective at 9pm doesn't even register in my consciousness at 7am.
It doesn't help that we have a very comfortable sleeping couch. He, Clifford the Big Red Couch, was purchased 3 years ago to replace our teal (who has a teal couch?) hand-me-down. I love Clifford, pudding stains and all, but I wish his siren song (bark?) wasn't so strong every morning.
I hope you enjoy the accompanying photos, expertly doctored by yours truly. Though I have no formal Photoshop training whatsoever (can you believe it?), I have raw, raw talent and am available for hire for your projects at what I believe is the going rate for amateur Photoshoppers these days: $300/hour. I just can't guarantee the speed of my work--I have a lot of sleeping to do.