I am a hot mess. I had a great conversation today with friends in an ongoing Facebook chat (ongoing for ... I don't know how to check how many years now - Hannah? Nicole? Any idea?) about how two of us were hanging back from the conversation because we were struggling and didn't feel like burdening the others with our complaints, even though we know rationally that whenever we do, everyone is compassionate and supportive, and we feel better. One of depression's major Insult to Injury Features is that it both takes you out at the knees and whispers in your ear that your pain is unearned and unimportant and no one will believe you or care.
But first, the good stuff:
Watch this space!
THERE'S AN EVE IN IT!
We stowed a couple of things (microwave, bedside table drawers, bin of dishes) in Matt's brother's garage not too far away because she wasn't going to have access to her house until May. We had pretty easily fit everything in the Rav going down, with a few things in one of those rooftap bags Matt had bought for the purpose. Everything was going fine this time, except it was very cold and windy.
We had almost everything ready to go, and then remembered we had to unzip the bed-bug-proof mattress cover and take the mattress topper off the bed. I can't find a picture of it, but it's a black foam thing that looks desperately uncomfortable - like an upsided-down egg carton with little spikes - but according to Eve (and her friend Erin who loved Eve's bed) it was the best thing ever. Eve got it off the bed and rolled into a pretty manageable bundle while I carried one load down, and then I came back and we brought it out to the Rav. Unfortunately, Matt wasn't quite ready to put it in anywhere, and an unanticipated effect of it sitting out in the cold is that it started to unfurl and became cement-like in its properties, so when we finally tried to stuff it in somewhere it was very, very difficult. We were basically helpless with laughter while not being able to feel our hands.
More and more people kept showing up to say good-bye as we were finishing up, and I was having huge flashbacks to the bittersweet end-of-year times more years ago than I can actually believe. Eve and Erin and Isabelle mentioned that they'd meant to have a sleepover in one room and never managed it, so I told them about when a friend and I hauled our mattresses out onto the balcony one night in spring for an outdoor sleepover. Then we realized that my residence didn't even HAVE balconies anymore, which is a travesty of justice as far as I'm concerned.
We went over to the Department Head's office, the one who is my old professor and had asked us to come say hi before we left. She had made a special point of coming over to talk to Eve at the Arts and Science formal, which gave Eve huge street cred in the program because this professor is basically a celebrity among the students. Now she's asked if she can stay with us for her brother's wedding in the summer, which is hilarious because now Eve can tell everyone she had an actual sleepover with Dr. Wilson.
So yes, my daughter is home. I was thinking about one of Eve's friends who has mean unsupportive parents, who got into a really good program at a university a few hours away. In the fall I asked Eve how the friend was doing and she said "she's surprised that she's away from her parents and still has depression." Turns out my daughter is home and the weather has been lovely for a few days and ... I still have depression. I also have a kitchen full of tiny ants. Is this a thing? I've had ants, but never tiny ones. It must be a thing, because when I searched "ant traps" on amazon, one of the suggestions was "ant traps for tiny ants". As Eve said, I feel like ant traps should be effective on every size of ant.
I also have the photographic evidence Steph of All For the Love of You asked for a few months back when I mentioned wearing Doc Martens for my wedding. We had been asked to find some old baseball pictures of Angus for Seniors Day at the last minute, and Matt had found some but I was worried bringing them unframed would be risky so I went down to the storage closet to pull a few 8x10 frames out of the towering unsteady pile of frames and suddenly, there it was:
I can't remember the context in which I mentioned it, so just in case I didn't tell this part of the story, at one point during the dance I stepped out the back door to get some air and there was a small crowd of people. At one point my sister said "Ali, can you flash your boots so this gentlemen can get a picture?" I hiked my skirts and posed obligingly, and after the picture was snapped, Matt's uncle grabbed my shoulder and said "oh thank God, I thought she said 'boobs'".