December 25, 2017 will be my final Christmas. Come January 16, there will be no turning back.
The manner in which I process the world is firstly internal. Something happens, whether good or bad, and I send it through a thirty-organ process before I am able to physically respond. Often, I don’t even realize my body is computing an emotional response until it blurts out in word vomit on someone else’s shocked face or I’m caught in an inexplicable bout of darkness with nubby fingers and bitten nails stuck in my teeth.
I always tended to be a perfectionist. If I am to invest in something, I want to invest heavily. I want to be proud of the end accomplishment. If I am fortunate enough to receive positive feedback, I put even more pressure on myself to keep up appearances.
Seriously. I don't know.
It often feels like my job is to be an internet sponge. I soak up what’s going on in the world and then squeeze it out through Dadding Depressed. As I work throughout the week, I stumble upon many valuable resources that don’t always find a home in a blog post. So, here are a few of my favorite ones that I’ve found lately:
The only six pack I’ve ever had has been full of beer, and every IPA, Pale Ale, and Breakfast Stout came back with vengeance as I suffered through a mere six reps of inverse crunches.
I remember my son noticing his fingers for the first time. It was fantastic. Lying with his back on the living room carpet, his nubby fingers twirled in front of his eyes like a VeggieTales baby carrot dance number. As he hunts down every inch of his tubby self, there is at least one feature he has not yet found.