Sometimes an inch is just enough

I've been and I am struggling with the beast of depression these days. (As if you haven't already noticed by the whiny self-pitying garbage I posted last - My apologies). I don't have a shrink, not because I don't believe they do a lot of good, but because I don't feel comfortable with them. I don't take antidepressants, not because I don't believe in them, but because I fear being medicated more than I fear depression itself. I'm stubborn, set in my ways and like to do things my way. It's just how I roll.

I know that forcing myself to be physically active, socializing and keeping up with my daily routine is a means to fight depression that actually works. Sometimes I set myself goals that are simply too high for my general state of mind and health. The ghost of high expectations is a tough mistress to please, indeed. I'm sure you've met her a time or two. She gets around.

Yesterday, all I really wanted was to get back to bed and hide under my blanket. Even the news were enough to tear me up. It was as bad as it gets. I spent most of the day trying to figure out a way to sneak out of an agreement I'd made with my best friend, Ellen. I was to join her and some colleagues of hers and go to a concert. I hadn't been to a concert in years. I hadn't been out with my friends for more than a year. This was a big thing and something I really looked forward to. Until a week ago.

I was a complete mess and in my mind I was not fit for the rest of the world at all. I was a walking disaster and out there all kinds of disasters were waiting around every corner. A collusion of nuclear dimensions was just waiting to happen. I was dead certain of it.

I also knew that if I stripped away everything that was not completely rational and logical, this was exactly what I needed.

I ended up going. I think it saved my sanity

Anne Grete Preus is a female artist and a total wizard on guitars. She rocks with electric guitars and a band and she rocks alone with an acoustic. Last night was only her and her guitars.  She's not everybody's cup of tea, but her songs are honest and they have meaning. Most of her songs are of the melancholy type and I had to work so fucking hard not to have a complete breakdown. I didn't. I clutched my glass of wine, praying it wouldn't shatter and focused on breathing in and out a few times, yes, but the glass held. I held. I went home feeling better than I have in a long time.

One song in particular spoke to me last night. It resonated with the strings in my brain and her words rang true. Because sometimes an inch is just enough.  

She sings in Norwegian. I pretended I was a ninja and translated a couple of her songs. They are more or less impossible to translate, but since I pretended I was a ninja, I pretended that was not so and gave it a go anyhow.

I searched Youtube and found a clip of her singing at a gay Accept concert. Anne Grete herself is gay and married the woman of her dreams a while back. (PS! the song starts at 0:56 for those who don't want to listen to Nøøørwish)

An Inch(Millimeter)

You can mount the highest mountain to explore your inner strenght
or study law for years and years to sit on the laywer's bench
Sharpen up your mind
Reading books by the miles
 Or working hard to afford floors of golden tiles

Ref:

But sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough

Low and lite has more power than much, full and a lot
 Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

You can long for an eternity after long, humid nights
Or long for true love even with your cards held tight
Never find peace and rythm here
allways looking round the next bend
believing that others' praise is not another word for pretend

But sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough

Low and lite has more power than much, full and a lot
Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

A single moment an eternity
Depends on your perspective
A single little clever thought
can change how you will percive it
The art is to hold your head high and keep your back free

        

But sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough

Low and lite has more power than much, full and a lot
Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

...

Ain't that the truth of it. Sometimes an inch is enough. Only one little inch enough, perhaps, but enough all the same. It doesn't matter if you can't be the best, the fittest, the strongest, etc. Sometimes being just good enough, just fit enough and just strong enough to get you by is enough. The art lies in holding your head high.

Food for thought, huh?

Be proud of what and who you are, not what and who you could have been if only...



PS! I'm letting the artist know I've done a ninja-translation of her song. If she doesn't like it or prefers it removed, this post will be deleted.  

Just one of those days...

You're all familiar with them there days, aren't you? So am I. I handle them pretty well[Read: cussing and swearing, but without actually killing anyone].

They're just part of life. I understand and accept that. But do they have to come in friggin shoals? I mean...Come on!

After a long period with bad arthritis, which lead to a bad bout of psoriasis, which lead to bad skin and  excessive hair loss, I realized I needed to do something about it. Having no extra money, I knew that going to a hair dresser was out of question, so instead I opted for a box do-it-yourself-hair-bleach/dye and a box of that nutri-something powder that is so popular in diets and switched my breakfast - which I don't really ever eat - with a glass of this wonderstuff. I have to admit it has helped. My skin is a lot better and the hair looks thicker and a lot better. Or, so I thought. Until hubby decided to give me some of his great compliments.

Him:  "Well, you no longer look grey and old."
Me: "Why, thank you, dearest."
Him: "Now you just look old and thin-haired"
Me: "Really!?! I feel so lucky to have a husband who gives such uplifting compliments"
Him: Grinning widely "Yes, yes you ARE lucky..."
Me: Thinking to myself that I can't really do anything about my hair so there's no point thinking about that too much and at least I'm not fat.
Him: "...I give great compliments and you know what, it doesn't matter that you're getting fat, I still love you."
Me: "I. Am. Not. Fat."
Him: "meeh, you're not FAT-fat, but you know, your bum is sagging, there's THIGHS[said with emphasis and with hand movements indicating lifting something truly heavy] and when you sit down and lean forward, your stomach sort of bubbles, you know what I mean."
Me: Speechless
Him: "And it doesn't matter one bit, because I still love you, honey and I still want you, know what I mean, nudge-nudge n'all that" [obnoxious hand-, eye-, eyebrow movements]
Me: "You need to stop talking, or you'll be a wife short in no time."
Him: "You should take longer walks with Georg. That will do you a lot of good. I hear it helps with depressions"
Me: "..."

I usually get up and leave at this point, because when he gets on one of his rolls...yeah.

He's loving his new job. He's enjoying himself and the company of old friends and colleagues. He comes home feeling on top of the world and it's all fine, but when he gets too full of himself, he really is a tough case to handle. It's like there is a weird chemical collusion in his brain and there is no room for anyone but himself. I try to overlook most of it, because, hey, I don't want to be the bitter bitch sitting at home unable to work even a half time job, complaining, but when he gets like this...It really is hard to handle.

I'm aware that I'm struggling with depression and that my mind is lying. I'm taking things up in a worse meaning that what they're meant. I'm sensitive and get easily upset. I'm dealing with insomnia, which scrambles my brains and doubles the other stupid stuff. I am aware of this, but helloo! I wish he wouldn't feel compelled to giving me compliments and good advice.

It's like he notices I'm near the brink of breaking down and gets the urge to pick on me, more like the way you get the urge to pick at a scabbing wound. Unconsciously. Maybe he is trying to push me to tell him what really bothers me, because he complains that I don't tell him about my worries/fears/hurts. It's just that when his advice for how to deal with insomnia, is to go to bed earlier, well... His advice for how to handle housework when my arthritis is bad is to start earlier in the morning and work slowly throughout the whole day, so that I don't have time to sit down and think about how much I ache...well. Yeah, I can sort of do better without.

Depression lies. I know. I'm not sure it changes words, but if I am honest, were I to 'arrest' him on his words, he'll probably say something along the lines: "Yes, I did say those things, but it wasn't what I meant..."

Anyone knows someone with a head the size of a chair?

I knitted the hat for my sister in law the other day.  Turns out that the different type of yarn screw up my recipe and I ended up having to knit another one. I'm in the process of felting it. Cross your fingers this one turns out better.



It is something, but it's no hat. My feet fits in it.  I haven't quite figured out what the heck it is, or what I could possibly use it for.

Ideas will be accepted with gratitude.



 





UPDATE:

I finished knitting the second attempt at a hat and it turned out a lot better.

I'm contemplating giving her the epic-fail one as well. She's got a cat and I think perhaps it would be perfect as a cat's bed. Yes. It is that big...

 






Here's a picture of both of them - just to give you a perspective

Notice how the colour is different as well as size? It IS supposed to be the same colour - moss green, but that is what different brand's color-codes are like, I guess.

I can only hope that it is the type of moss-green that my sister in law likes...