Back in university, I was afraid of a group of girls. The athlete girls. You know who I’m talking about. They were the rougher, tougher, smoker, swearer girls.

I went to a wedding recently. My first one in years. And I wouldn’t lie if I didn’t say I tried to look beautiful for that wedding. You see, I’ve put on a few pounds over the past few years.

Something stinks. I don’t know what it is, but every time I walk into the mudroom of my house, there’s this, this…stench that wafts from…somewhere. It’s gross. It’s disgusting. And it’s driving me crazy.

What the heck is that smell?

In case you’re wondering, I’m not against gratitude. In fact, I recently spent an entire year posting a daily photo and blurb on social media for something I was grateful for each day of the year.

I’m not a morning person. And I’m especially not a Monday-morning person. In fact, I hate Mondays so much that I tend to ruin my Sunday in anticipation of Monday. Like what’s wrong with that, right?

I’m here again. After a six-month hiatus from my depression and anxiety, it’s back. When I was “out of it,” back in a clear frame of mind, I wasn’t stupid enough to think it could never come back.