Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

The end of the semester brought with it lots of not feeling like doing much of anything. We had a couple of days of snow, which was wonderful as it allowed me the opportunity to get out and snowshoe, but those days were followed by bitter cold then a warming trend. Now the snow is gone and the ground is soft, muddy, and just lots of yuck. The dogs track in the mud, so I've had to sweep and mop after them, adding to the feelings of just not wanting to have to do anything.  Those feelings, while I go through this every now and then, have stuck around much longer than usual. I was doing the daily routine -- walking the dogs in the morning, playing with them, taking Teddie to his sniff games classes and Sunny to his companion dog classes -- but the between time of these activities has been a lot of vegging out in front of the TV and spending way too much time online, reading article after article addressing the bad happening in this country.  Today, I finally admitted to myself I'...

It used to be students would use "my grandma died" as the excuse for not getting work submitted. Poor grandma -- she sometimes died two or three times during a semester. Now, the more typical reason for not attending class and not getting work in is anxiety and panic attacks. And usually the student doesn't inform me of this until after getting the final grade, which for some is most likely what's inducing the anxiety and panic attacks. Over the last six or seven years, the number of students claiming to suffer from depression, anxiety, and panic attacks has increased exponentially. I am truly conflicted over this. I know the conditions are real and some people truly suffer because of anxiety and panic attacks. The idea, too, that so many young people are claiming to experience both suggests something very wrong is happening in our world (hello social media?). This semester, I've had several students tell me at the end of the semester they suffer from both, and ...

Today has been a rough day emotionally. After kind of just wandering around the house, outside, and through the grocery store, I thought the best way to handle my emotions was to write. When I went to the consult for the breast reduction surgery, the doc had me raise my right hand and swear I would not get angry at him about the size of my breasts post-surgery for at least six weeks. He went on, saying I would go through a period of swelling and not seeing the true results for at least that long, maybe longer. When I went in for my check-up this past Thursday, he measured me, and with a bit of a smirk he said, "You're bigger now than you were last week." To someone who has always tried to minimize the big, this wasn't what I wanted or needed to hear, especially from a man who was trying not to laugh about it. This morning, I could tell the breasts are even bigger than they were on Thursday. Yeah, not funny at all. So I'm trying to convince myself this is just ...