I am not okay.
And that, in itself is okay.
Thinking it, somehow, makes me feel a little better.
I started taking digital media classes last year. I had been taking a bunch of business type classes and had even earn some Microsoft certificates. I was bored out of my mind. So, I signed up for the Introduction to Digital Media class. I haven’t taken another business class since. It was during the intro class that the professor mentioned stop motion. I bugged him for days for us to do a stop motion project in the intro class. We didn’t. It came up again in the next class, Digital Imaging and Fundamentals, but I was out voted. The rest of the class wanted nothing to do with stop motion. I even tried to talk him into it during a digital photograph course over the summer that was full of non digital media majors. Finally, this semester, there was a stop motion project in the mix of the Video and Sound course. I just finished it last week. I love it.
It was painful.
Not in the way you might think. Stop motion is a lot of work. A one minute clip at 15 frames-per-second (fps) requires at least 900 photos. That is after the storyboarding, set building, and test photos. So, yes, the project itself was going to painfully rewarding.
And it was, but mostly, it was just painful. Like crying in the middle of the night painful. Procrastinating painful. I couldn’t figure out why. This is a project I had wanted to do for a year. I’d planned part of it out with my mom while she was staying at the rehab center recovering from her amputation.
I inherited the house mom and I were living in when she died back in April. I guess you could say that it’s The Family House. We (my parents and me) moved in late in 1988 and this has been my legal residence ever since. Even during 20 years of military service, this house was home. Now, it is really mine. Sort of. Sometimes, I think that being forced to sell it because of a will would have been easier than continuing to live here. I don’t have to be in a rush to sort through things. So, I get hung up on what should go and what should stay. Much of the house feels like Mom should be wondering in at any minute. I haven’t taken enough of her things off the walls. I oscillate between This Junk Has To Go moments and No, I Can’t Get Rid of This, I Don’t Know What It Meant to Mom moments, with a smattering of This Ugly Thing Meant So Much To Her. *sigh*
I emptied her bedroom within days after she died and started to set it up as The Art Room. I moved a big table into the middle of the room and then all the art and craft related stuff followed. The extra computer I inherited is set up on a rolling cart so that I can google things as needed (or listen to iTunes). I built my stop motion set on the table in her room and proceeded to shoot in there. And then I didn’t want to go in.
I still call it Her Room. It still feels like Her Room. This is one of the things I realized during this project. Because I inherited the house, and will be living in it, I’ve taken my time with making it mine. I need to repaint rooms. I need to taken down the things that aren’t my style. She’d be okay with it. I know she would. She told me so and, as her only child, I know she’d want me happy.
The other thing I realized: I need to call the VA. I am not okay and I need help.