Me and my bestie, Jess, in the fastest photo op ever, next to our work. Glorious.

Okay, kids, this is totally not the surprise I had in store for you, but it's so much better. This is a little senior prank the girls of my high school graduating class pulled, called "Senior Girls Bustin' Out." If it's not clear, these are boob-painting murals. Yes, we all got together and painted them with our boobs. It's okay to be impressed. You'll also be impressed with my black pleather pants, badly bleached hair, and Transitions lenses. In my defense, it was the 90s.

A huge shout out to Teri Blankenship-Engelmann for taking this video back in the day and keeping it alive for 15 years. You're the best.

Oh, look at that. It's Friday. Weird.

Mother's Day is this weekend. Did you get your mom/wife anything? If you didn't, don't worry because you still have time to clean the entire house. Because she's not kidding when she says all she wants for Mother's Day is a clean house. And 25 hours of sleep. So get on that. Go. Do it.

Normally, I would have lots of links and stuff to share with you today. But I wasn't on Facebook or Twitter this week, so yeah … I've got nothing. Seriously. The New York Times Arts section was good this week. Alan Cumming does this totally cray Lady Macbeth monologue. It's pretty intense. Watching it, all I could think was, "Why did I ever think acting and I were MFEO?" For serious.

Oh, The Great Gatsby opens today. Gah. I really want to see it. I just re-read the novel and 1) realized I missed all the humor back in high school (oops), and 2) holy sh*t, that is some seriously gorgeous prose. It shimmers. Literally.*

Watch this video.** Thanks, Brian.

Also, if I seem bipolar lately, it's because I've got lots on my mind/plate. Big changes are a-coming, which I can't wait to share with you. But I have to wait. I am not pregnant.

And … I kind of have a surprise for you. I've been thinking of this for a while now, and I've kind of been scared to do it, but I really want to, so I'm just going to do it. This weekend. So, you have to wait until Monday. But I think you're really going to like it.

Have a great weekend, lovies.

*I meant figuratively.

**Kenyon College is the real college I went to before transferring to Eastman, so even though I would have graduated a few years before this speech was given by one Mr. David Foster Wallace, I like to imagine I was there. Because that would have been amazing.

Yes, this is me dressed as a human jelly bean. It is both hilarious and depressing. Okay, maybe just hilarious.

Holy smokes, you guys. Guess what this week is? That's right. It's National Anxiety and Depression Awareness Week (May 5–11, 2013). Ah, how poetic! I was going through some old drafts in the blog files and found the following post, which I wrote a few years ago. (You'll notice that I sound like a very Serious Sally. It's not the subject matter — I just hadn't found my voice yet, y'all. No worries.) I thought about rewriting to find the funny in it, but I wrote it from my heart, and I figure you might as well read it that way. And I didn't want to take away from the truth of how difficult it can really be sometimes.

So, here it is, without any attempts at humor to hide the hurt. This is how I deal.

There are 15 million people in the United States who suffer depression. I am one of them. I was diagnosed when I was about 15-years old going through treatment for anorexia as the two often go hand-in-hand. I was an official member of the Prozac Generation, prescribed the popular anti-depressant of the 1990s, and stayed on it for about five years until I decided that I was tired of living with only neutral emotions. Yes, the anti-depressants certainly helped to alleviate the lows that I experienced, but they also took away any highs I might have had. After I emerged on the other side of my eating disorder, I assumed that my depression was behind me as well. But it wasn't. I began to think that my anorexia had been a physical manifestation of my depression. Even now it's hard to say which came first. However, I continued off and on in therapy for years until my last therapist in New York City suggested that I start coming multiple times a week at about $200+ a session. My Midwestern sensibility has always considered psychoanalysis a luxury; my therapist believed it a necessity. We parted due to irreconcilable differences.

For most of my adult life, I have felt unhappy more often than not. And with no good reason. I have a wonderful life: I am healthy, have an incredible family, and want for nothing. Because I recognized that I had no cause for unhappiness, I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me, that I had some inherent personality flaw that caused me to never be satisfied with life no matter how good it was. Then I'd feel guilty for feeling dissatisfied because I am so fortunate, and that didn't help me either. I legitimately believed that I was crazy.

Then last year I read this article. It's an older article, but it was a revelation to me: dysthymia. Dysthymia is a long-term, mild depression that causes people to feel generally unsatisfied and discontent with life. The article was describing me. I cried when I realized that there was a name for what I was feeling, that I wasn't actually crazy, and that I might finally be able to manage it. I then went on a Google frenzy, learning everything that I could about it. Many sources said that often times drugs and cognitive therapy are not effective, which I had found to be true, and that the onset often occurs during adolescence. Again, all true of my experience. I felt a glimmer of hope that long-term happiness was truly a possibility for me.

I prefer to try any and all alternatives before turning to medication, so when I noticed that the Mayo Clinic had tips for coping with dysthymia, I was determined to implement them all.

• Simplify your life. Cut back on obligations when possible, and set reasonable schedules for goals.
• Write in a journal to express your pain, anger, fear or other emotions.
• Read reputable self-help books and consider talking about them to your doctor or therapist.
• Don't become isolated. Try to participate in normal activities and get together with family or friends regularly.
• Take care of yourself by eating a healthy diet and getting sufficient sleep.
• Join a support group for people with depression-related conditions so that you can connect to others facing similar challenges.
• Stay focused on your goals. Recovery from dysthymia is an ongoing process. Stay motivated by keeping your recovery goals in mind. Remind yourself that you're responsible for managing your illness and working toward your goals.
• Learn relaxation and stress management. Try such stress-reduction techniques as meditation, yoga or tai chi.
• Structure your time. Plan your day and activities. Try to stay organized. You may find it helpful to make a list of daily tasks.

I was doing many of these suggestions already, but not with any routine or structure, so I set about creating a daily health maintenance routine. I accepted that my chronic, low-grade depression may never go away, that there isn't a magic cure, but I could be happy if I committed to doing these things each and every day. And it's worked very well. I'm happier than I've been in as long as I can remember. My family thinks so, too.

I am writing this because it's hard to talk about depression. I think it's the nature of the beast. When your depressed you say to yourself, "Why would anyone want to hear about how sad I am? It's doesn't matter that much. I should just get over it." I spent so many years depressed that I stopped talking about it to my closest friends and family because I was convinced that they were sick of hearing about it. So, if you're like me, you'd rather keep your struggle to yourself than reach out for help. But it does matter. You matter. Sometimes you can't heal without help.

And that's the truth.

And that's where I ended this post when I published it earlier today.

For the last two hours, I've felt like I cheated. I felt like I conveniently avoided talking about what depression feels like, and I realize that maybe I'm a little too far over on the dark side right now to actually talk about it. I wish that I could, but I'm trying to keep it together. This blogger really gets it, so take a look at how she illustrates living with depression.

The good thing is that hysterical laughter is just a heave away from hysterical sobbing, so I should be funny again soon.

God, I hope so.

Love.

My favorite poem at the moment:

Rose are red.
Violets are blue.
I'm a schizophrenic,
And so am I.

You guys, I'm going to be brutally honest: I'm in a really weird place. Usually, I can find some humor in my fatigue, dog poop, kids' pee, and not showering for days on end, but y'all … my sense of humor is gone, and I think my kids took it.

I have a nice red bruise in the middle of my forehead where I smashed it into the corner of their bookcase yesterday. It hurts when I push on it.

S and L have been sick all week, which means they haven't slept all week, which means I haven't slept all week. Now I'm getting sick.

If comedy stems from anger or sadness, I totally have a problem — I've moved past anger and sadness right into the numb zone. It feels like high school. That's also a no comedy zone.

If my life were a movie, Goldie Hawn would play me and that movie would be called Overboard, and it wouldn't even be the entire movie just this scene. This is where I am, friends.

Love you all long time.

I woke up tangled in sheets of sadness this morning. I had a dream about an old friend. We've all had ex dreams, right? Well, this wasn't an ex-boyfriend — it was an ex-BFF. And I should clarify further: I thought we were best friends. She never felt that way. Anyway, in my dream she invited me to join her sorority, which I'm sure is rife with symbolism, but as a therapist once assured me, dreams like this are not actually about the ex, they're about you. So, obviously, this means something about me and what I'm working through right now, and I've come up with two possibilities.

1. I hate Twitter. I know this seems like a non sequitur, but bear with me. Although I really liked Twitter when I first started using it, I can honestly say that I just don't get it. I know I'm in the minority here, but on some very basic, fundamental level, I do not understand the rules of the game. I know people will argue that you're connecting with celebrities people you'd never have an opportunity to meet in real life, but let's be honest, friends. You're not. You're in a one-sided relationship with a whole lotta people who you know don't and never will.

And seriously, I can't take the follow/unfollow business anymore. Someone follows you, and if you don't follow back, they unfollow you. And if you do follow back, they unfollow you. What the heck? You can't win. Clearly, these people aren't actually interested in you, they're just trying to get as many followers as possible to make themselves look … successful? desirable? popular? I don't know. I wish they would just buy some followers. These are not real connections, people. Twitter's pretty much a forum for the most blatant, flagrant self-promotion probably in the entire world. Now, if you've found meaningful connections and made real-life friends via Twitter, I applaud you because you obviously understand something that I don't. I have a handful of real-life friends from before the Internet who are on Twitter and not on Facebook, so I see some value in keeping the account, but that's about it.

2. I really need a best friend. The sad part of this is that I have a best friend. Several, in fact. But you all live so far, anywhere from an hour away, or North Carolina. And we're all busy. (I miss you.) I guess what I really need is a local best friend. A best friend who lives in the same town I do, maybe within a 10-mile radius of my house. My current living situation is less than ideal. Salem is not exactly a hub of culture, and unless you're really into cars and dive bars, I don't know how you meet people here. We're getting ready to move (more on that later because I'm superstitious (not really), and I don't want to talk about it until it's finalized), and I love the town we're moving to because it seems to be populated with my people, but maybe more than that … it's really isolating to be home with kids. Twitter and Facebook are good for staying connected with the outside world, but that's not real life, and it's not meaningful, and it's not really connecting with someone or sharing your real life with them. Online reality is exactly what you want it to be.

I try to make this blog a reflection of my real life by being as honest as possible. I show you the ugly stuff, even though "successful" bloggers will tell you that people really just want to see pretty things. Do they? Isn't that the whole problem? I felt bad about my post yesterday because it came from a dark place. Well, I'll be totally honest with you, I'm in kind of a dark place right now. And even though I have learned that most people don't really want to hear about your darkness, but I feel like it's disingenuous to paint you a picture of a life that's all puppies and rainbows when it's really old, smelly Chihuahuas and overcast. (Come on, I live in Ohio. It's always overcast.)

Anyway, those are my deep thoughts for the day. It's a little cold and rainy here today. Scarlett has been interrupting me every 30 seconds since I started writing this. And yes, it's overcast. Hoping the sun will come out a little later today.

No, not really — this is the face of motherhood. I haven't slept in a week. Hee hee.

Today's post has been brought to you by the letter F and the letter B.

Okay, so I wrote a while back about trying to break my social media addiction. To my complete and utter surprise, I've actually done pretty well. I'm using my phone for calls, e-mail, and RSS subscriptions; all other accounts I only access online. I, of course, would be hitting it out of the park if I left the house for extended periods of time, but I don't, so when I have a minute, I usually check. Today, I decided to take it to the next level: I'm scaling back to a once-a-week social media check-in. Like everyone, I have toyed around with deleting my account forever, but it's just too extreme. (This guy quit the Internet for a year. He agrees that it's just too far.) So, I'm going with once a week. I think it'll let me keep up with what's happening with my friends' lives while actually still having one of my own.

I mean, look at me already. This post was borne out of sheer boredom. No offense. I'm sitting here, and instead of seeing what you're all doing on the Facebooks, I'm giving you something to ponder. Of course, the irony is that you're reading this on Facebook, and really the only way people even know to read anything new I write is because of Facebook. But that's life, you know — chock full of irony. Good times.

I also thought I'd revisit all the nice, long-form/slow journalism publications I used to read before I started using links on Facebook and Twitter to direct me to what's happening in the world. Turns out Brian has a subscription to The New York Times. That's pretty convenient, don't you think?

And while I'm not on Facebook, I thought I'd try to make the world a better place because I really do want world peace. Yesterday, I helped a couple teenage girls express themselves and find their voices. And I picked up all the trash at the playground. Not sure I've contributed much today, but it's only 2:00 PM, so I've got time. I'll let you know tomorrow. Hope you're having a good Monday! I can't tell because I'm not on Facebook. And no, I didn't check my profile when I posted this to my page. I use that share-y bookmarklet thing as a nice work-around. You know it.

I just remembered that I had a weird dream about snakes the other night. Is that bad?

Remember when I told you that Scarlett hates my singing? Well, I think we've worked through it. Turns out she just hates my belting because it's too loud. Fair enough. So, we've come up with a solution: when I'm practicing she either hides in the closet or stays upstairs. Judgers, this is not Privet Drive. The closet is ginormous with two dollhouses and a cupcake kitchen in it, so it's not like she's doing hard time. Sometimes I go in there to hide too. Anyways, I'm working on a new song, and I decided to videotape (Is that still a word?) my practice session so that I can better identify things I need to work on. I hastily set up my phone and started recording. These are the moments, friends. Instead of something useful, I managed to record a metaphor for my life. Oh, life, you so funny.

1. You'll notice that I am completely out of focus with no head, belting screaming on pitch. Just an average day.
2. What is in focus and in the foreground? Scarlett's _____. It doesn't matter what it is, just know it's Scarlett's. Enough said.
3. I'm scraping for those low notes at the bottom. Just like I'm scraping the bottom of my patience. And sanity.
4. Note the headphones. That's the only way I can hear. If I want to concentrate or sleep, I need to block out all noise around me.
5. I'm gesticulating to emphasize something that only makes sense to me. "Am I crazy?" I ask myself. Don't answer that.
6. At the very end of the video, about 0.5 seconds after the last note, Scarlett tells me where she's put Leo. Ah, the joys of parenting.

And scene.

You guys, I kind of want to do this. Have you seen? Are you now asking why I'd want to pose nude? Well, because (see warning above) The Nu Project is kind of amazing. And I never got to be a nude model for life drawing at the real college I went to before transferring to music school.

After years of seeing airbrushed/computer-generator women in magazines, I love the honesty of these photographs. I love these ladies for putting themselves out there. I just love it. I can't help but wonder what life would be like for women and girls if they saw images like this instead of the manufactured images that we see everywhere. Participating in this project would be an incredible way to change the currently skewed perspective we all have about what women look like. I really do want to help women feel better about themselves. That, and world peace.

What do you think? Would you ever do something like this? I actually feel more confident about my body now that I've had kids. Maybe it's because my breasts have lost any and all mystery through breastfeeding. Maybe it's because my body has been through more than I thought it could handle, and I have the scars to prove it. Actually, it's probably just all those years in theatre.

If The Nu Project ever comes to my town, and I sign up, I may or may not tell you about it. I was thinking of making the mom move to a one-piece swimsuit this year, but maybe I'll keep on wearing my $8 two-piece from Target because it's nice to be almost naked in the summer, and we don't live in Europe where we could actually be naked. Oh yeah, I also just remembered that I'm trying to feel like a woman instead of a mom these days. Good talk, Melissa. (See what I did there?)

That's my bathing suit. (Come on, now — I can't be putting naked pictures up on here.)

This was the best one.

Okay, kids, for those you who missed it on the Facebooks last month, here's my very first stand-up set. I managed not to puke or black out during the performance, so I'll call it a win. Also, I hate watching myself on video, so Brian forced me to watch it and having done that I can now share it with you. I hope you dig it.