The things about depression is that it hits you unexpectedly like a blinding migraine.  It’s like something out of the corner of the eye that you don’t quite catch and then grab hold of you without any warning.

I love the holidays.  By the holidays, I mean any holiday.  My family celebrates every major and minor holiday with a large meal. Holidays, such as Eid, Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter get more than one meal, but other holidays, such as MLK day, Groundhog’s Day, Valentine’s Day, President’s Day, Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, International Mother’s Day, Birthdays, etc…

I never understood why others are so concerned about how others worship.  As long as the group is keeping to themselves, then what does it matter?  In the space my group rents, the people that we worship beside meditate upon a book and the dead person who wrote it.  Sounds wholly fascinating to me, but it’s not for me.  I sometimes can draw parallels to my own faith, but I don’t become violent or reactionary when I think about them in the other room.  On the contrary, I smile because I think about how cool it is that two completely different, yet somewhat similar group

Hajj is one of those things that I can’t ever say I even remotely related to on any level.  The idea of traveling to one of the few countries I never wanted to visit and perform forced rituals sounded so devoid of anything close to what I wanted to do to show religious devotion even if it was with fellow co-religionists.  I’m not a ritual-phobe, but I am a person who likes to do things with meaning for myself, with flexibility and without fear.

Please bear with me.  I’ll probably complain my first few blogs because I have had little place to vent my frustrations to more than myself or the proverbial blank wall.  Sometimes my husband will be on the receiving end, but his ability to change my complaining voice into a lulling melody to which he can fall asleep does not move me towards resolution.