Coffee and a smile

I've entered the world of amigurumi. Say it with me: Ahh-mee-gah-ru-mee.

Roll it around in your mouth. It feels as good as it looks: tiny animals, anthropomorphic objects, all with a smile and those big, doughy eyes you could get lost in.

Take this tiny cup of coffee, for example.  No bigger than a chicken egg, it's now sitting on a skinny shelf in my den, smiling at me while I watch crime dramas and crochet other adorable items.

I checked out basically every book of amigurumi I could get my hands on at the Seattle Public Library.  One of them talks about the the cultural phenomenon of amigurumi and kawaii (cuteness) showing up in Japanese culture after the war, when things were sad and defeatist. In order to bring joy to the working men and women stuck in windowless cubicles the cult of cuteness was born.

A quick web search and I can't find any information that substantiates that historical perspective. And yet, I think we could all use a little cute now and then.

Drop confirmed and posted.

After a bit of confusion and technical difficulty, my Toy Society drop has finally been posted on the official Toy Society blog!  Check it out here.

And here's my pitch for TS: If you're like me and constantly making more things than the people in your life want, Toy Society is a great way to share the love. So there. Check it out.

I think I owe you an apology.

Yesterday's post was part rant, part playing-the-martyr, part gloom-and-doom, part ridiculous.

Here it is: My body is host to something, what the doctors and the insurance company like to call major depressive disorder.  It's a dark, sticky, horrible disease that floats through my veins like molasses, urging me into downward spirals.  And I'm at the bottom of one of those spirals. At my most self-loathing, completely paralyzed, bottomed out, what's-the-point-anyway state of mind.

I try to go offline when this happens, keep the dark to myself.  I don't write, blog, call, or answer the doorbell. I get it. You don't want to be party to my misery. Hell, I don't want to be party to my misery.  (Party, by the way, seems like the wrong word here.)

Yesterday I broke the rules.  I got hold of my blog and spewed the darkness on all of you.  And for that I'm sorry.  I do like blogging for its own sake. I do like crafting and following other people's directions and adding my own flair.

Plus, blogging is the toilet of writing: which is to say, if your house is a mess, start by cleaning the toilet. It's fast and offers such a great sense of accomplishment.  Blogging is the same. Jot out a few sentences, add a photo or two, and poof! Proof that I'm more than my day job; more than my windowless office and those brittle press releases I produce like so many dandelions.

I like to have that proof out there in the world, accessible (if only to me) from any computer on the globe.  So again, I'm sorry.  I'm not well. But I'm on a path to getting better.