No Words

What do you write about when you don’t know what to write about? I feel so stuck lately, like my brain just won’t put together sentences in any kind of coherent way. I have random thoughts during the day and think “Oh, I should write that down, I could expand on that” but of course I don’t, and by the time I get home and have some quiet time to myself, I’m fried and the thought I had earlier is long gone. Anyone know of any decent writing prompt sites? Most of the ones I’ve seen have been crap.

Shameless plug: You have to go buy Jenny Lawson’s newest book, Furiously Happy. I was reading it last night in the waiting room at my daughter’s therapist’s and was laughing so hard that my stomach still hurts today. If you aren’t familiar with The Bloggess, you should be. She’s funny and kind and honest and brave and I have a huge girl-crush on her.



I don’t know what to do with this grief. It’s still so raw and painful. I find myself crying at really inopportune moments and I feel as though I shouldn’t feel this way about someone I never met. But Stacy touched my life in a way that I can’t even describe. She was light and brilliance and like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone like her again. I’m so pissed off that she’s gone. She needed to stay but she couldn’t and I just don’t know what to do with that.

I wonder how someone so bright and beautiful and luminescent as Stacy was could just decide she was done, that this was it. I’ve been in dark places, where I feel like I may deserve to just end things. Stacy seemed to have so much to live for. Brody, her legions of friends, but it wasn’t enough. That was Stacy. She decided when to stop the film. If nothing else, she stayed true to herself.

If this last week has taught me anything, it’s that I need to reach out more often to people I care about. Stop worrying that they don’t really like me, that I’m just a pain in their ass. That’s (most likely) not true. So if I suddenly start bugging the shit out of you, you know why.

I also need to discuss with my doctor about reducing my anti-depressant. I feel very flat. Nothing gets me very excited or happy and that’s no way to live. I am not kidding myself that I could ever live my life the way Stacy did, because I’m never going to be that fearless. I’m too filled with anxiety. But I need to kick this inertia to the curb. It’s not doing me any good and if the price I pay is that I get sadder for longer and more frequently, so be it. I also need to feel the exhiliration that life offers. I don’t think I’ve felt that in a long, long time.


For Stacy Fucking Campbell

The other night, I learned that someone I only knew online had committed suicide. I don’t know what to do with the emotions I’m feeling. She wasn’t a personal, in-real-life friend, but she was someone I was on contact with regularly for a long time. She was funny, smart, irreverent, and talented beyond belief. She’s left such a hole in all the lives she touched. Her photos were lovely and she was just a wonderful human being.

I can’t even remember how I first “met” Stacy. We seemed to follow a lot of the same bloggers and I probably clicked on a link to her blog from someone else’s blog roll. Her blog was full of love for her dog Jurgen, some of the most inappropriate and funny shit I’ve ever read, and words that just soared off the screen. I had a huge blog crush on her.

One day, I discovered that she was running a writing website called IndieInk. I submitted many stories to the site, and even won first prize (which consisted of glowing praise and being featured on the front page) once. To my complete and utter surprise, she soon asked me to join the team as an editor, and I did.

For the next year, I spent every day talking to her and the others running the site. Some of our emails were prosaic and work-oriented, but others were hilariously funny and I would often be at my desk at work with my fist in my mouth, stifling giggles. It was such a good time. I’ll cherish it always.

Stacy and I would also email privately, not about work. She knew I struggled with depression and I knew she had issues as well. She was always supportive and giving and so, so caring. But I think that maybe came at a price. She didn’t often discuss her own struggles, or if she did, they were deflected with a wry comment or witty aside. It was easy to think that she was doing OK, that she was handling it. I wish that were true because she might still be here today.

I don’t believe in god or heaven, but where ever Stacy’s spirit is now, I hope she’s at peace. She deserves that. Goodbye, you silly, beautiful, wonderful woman. I am going to miss you.

fb angel

And because I can never see this without thinking of her:







The Republican Debate

My takeaway from the debate last night was that a bunch of white men want to tell women what they can and cannot do with their bodies. They all want to defund Planned Parenthood, which, by the way, does mostly counseling, STD testing, cancer screenings, and sex education. The abortion services they provide consist of 3%, which are not funded by the US government. So why is every Republican candidate so insistent on defunding Planned Parenthood? Do they want to tell women what they should and should not be doing with their bodies? Because that’s what I got from this. You little ladies don’t know any better and us white men are going to tell you what’s right and what’s wrong and don’t you worry your pretty little heads about it.

Honestly. It makes me crazy that these are the candidates the Republican party is putting forth.

Go Bernie, is all I can say.


I started a new job last week and I have to say, my depression lifted immediately. I think being laid off did a number on my screwy brain. The new job is lovely and the people are nice and I really, really like what they’re doing. I’m going to be managing their social media, doing some marketing, and doing general administrative stuff.

Home life is also going well. One child is off camping, so it’s just me and the youngest, and we are really liking being lazy and watching bad movies and TV shows.

I’m trying to not think about when my brain is going to nosedive again. I find that if I start thinking about it and waiting for the other shoe to drop, I will slide into depression faster than I normally would. Keeping myself distracted with reading, knitting, and binge-watching shows helps, even if it doesn’t keep my house very tidy.

I took this photo last week. It’s also making me very happy


This pretty much sums up how I feel most days. It’s a very unpleasant way to feel and I would very much like it to stop. I’m working on it – seeing a therapist weekly and taking medication, but nothing really helps. I don’t know if it will ever get better and I’m starting to feel like there’s not much point to life anymore.

Waking the dead

Hmm. Maybe I’ll dust off this old thing and see what happens….


No, not me, I’ve done that once this year and that’s enough.

My lovely friend Kelly, who blogs at Deluca’s World, spent many days holding my hand and answering my idiotic questions and set up a shiny new blog for me. On my own domain. She’s a clever, clever girl.

So go visit me over at the brand new Major Bedhead and please don’t forget to change your bookmarks!!

There Is Such A Thing As Too Connected

I noticed something while I was at BlogHer last weekend. Bloggers are addicted to their technology. I realize this is not a revelation. Hell, I’m addicted to technology, too, even though I don’t have a smart phone. I do have an iTouch and a laptop and a fairly decent camera. I’m on Twitter and Facebook and Flickr and Linked In.

But what I’m not is connected to the internet when I’m hanging out with people, be it 5 friends around a backyard bonfire or at a conference with 2399 other people. I want to talk to people. I like the interaction, even though it’s sometimes really difficult. I don’t like feeling that I’m playing second fiddle to a Blackberry or iPhone. It reminds me of high school friends who would only firm up plans with me when they were sure their boyfriends or cooler friends (which usually meant friends with cars) weren’t busy.  It drove me crazy then and it drives me crazy now.

This phenomenon isn’t exclusive to BlogHer. I have friends who are compulsive about checking their emails and texts and Twitter feed and Facebook page when they’re out and about with me. If they get a text, they answer it, even if they’re in the middle of a conversation with me. If someone pings their phone, they have to check it, no matter what they’re doing. Out to dinner, at a party, even at the movies; it doesn’t matter. The little electronic beep takes precedence over real, live people.

While I was walking around New York City last weekend, I noticed several bloggers riding in one of those pedi cabs. Each of them was face down into their mobile devices, not paying any attention to this vibrant city surrounding them, more concerned with what was going on online than what was going on in front of their faces. It reminded me of the movie Wall-E. People on their hover-chairs, screens in front of their faces, never seeing the people beside them.

I’m all for social media. I gobble it up with the best of them. But sometimes you just need to put the fucking phone away and live in the moment. Don’t tweet about it, don’t post it to Facebook, just look up. Breathe it in. Wallow around in it. Disconnect for a bit and see what’s going on around you.

The Night I Danced With Barack Obama

I went to BlogHer’10. I know, I know, you’re all sick of hearing about BlogHer, but dammit, I had fun and it’s my blog, so I’m going to talk about it.

First, the party to end all parties. Sparklecorn. I briefly danced with this fine fellow. He’s very thin – the office must be wearing him out.

I let a few other women have their turns….

I danced. A lot. My feet had blisters. My blisters had blisters. Me and Velma and Rachel and ChickyChickyBaby and FairlyOddMother and a bunch of other ladies whose names are escaping me (I had still had 5 drink tickets when I got to this party and they gave me another one at the door).  I watched Poppy and Blackbird do some fancy footwork.

I laughed and danced and danced and laughed and admired the sparkly, shiny cake.

I talked to people I only know from Twitter. I met new people. I wasn’t shy. I didn’t hide in the corner, clutching a drink. I didn’t flee in terror. I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I just had pure, unadulterated fun.  I was complimented on my outfit many times, was told my hair was lovely and people squee’d at me when I introduced myself. Squee’d. At me. And I finally, FINALLY got to meet Jessica, from Oh The Joys. She hugged me. A lot. It was awesome.

I snagged one of the sweet Sparklecorn t-shirts, which garnered me more comments the next day than I think I’ve ever had on a blog post. It says “Judy Blume did not prepare me for this.” I’d show you a picture, but, well, I wore it. I may have worn it to bed and then out the next day (I showered, I showered!) because I had no clean shirts left.

Thank you, MamaPop and Sweetney, for throwing such a fantastic, fun party.  And to BlogHer, for once again, running a great conference. I’ll have something on the sessions soon – the ones I attended were (I’m running out of synonyms for fantastic here….) fabulous.

Previous Older Entries