Therapy

I probably don't want to know what you were thinking when you read the title of this entry, but I can imagine it went something like this: "Therapy?  Yep, she needs it." 

Maybe you're right, okay?  I do have a slightly unhealthy obsession with shoes.  And checking my e-mail.  I could probably use a little professional help dealing with my road rage issues, too.  I will admit, however, that after a teensy little road rage session involving a cute, little old man, I have gotten a lot better.  I learned my lesson that day.  And I cried about it.  A lot.  See, I just took the first step!  I'm getting it all out in the open, people. 

All jokes aside, though, therapy can be a very important tool in a person's life.  There are many different kinds for many different purposes. 

Me?  I "attend" therapy when I'm suffering from a particularly bad case of the blahs, when I'm feeling nostalgic and even when I'm feeling the need to organize.  Organizing is good for the soul, you know.  Luckily, the sessions are usually held in my own home and they're lots of fun.  They require a bit of patience and a lot of creativity. 

What the heck kind of therapy am I talking about, you ask?  It's called scrapbooking and there's really no kind of therapy quite like it.

I engage in other forms of therapy too - the bubble bath and mud mask kind, the retail kind, the glass of wine kind, the blogging kind.  They all satisfy a different part of my multi-faceted self.  Scrapbooking satisfies the desire in me for creativity and organization.  It's a hobby with no set rules and endless possibilities.  It's a way to preserve and showcase my fondest memories.  I can scrapbook by myself or with friends (although the former yields higher rates of productivity).  When I'm done for the day, everything returns to its set place and I have new creations to add to my collection.

It all starts out innocently enough.  A paper cutter.  Pictures.  Some colorful cardstock and squiggly scissors.

And then, before I know it, I've got a full blown, Category F5 mess on my hands.  Every square inch of our all too-tiny table (and usually part of the floor, too) is filled with stickers and papers and pictures and, well...scraps.  I get lost in my creations and before I know it, 3 hours have passed.

I expend my allotment of creative juices for the day.  I sit back and revel in my new masterpieces.  I do it for me.  It's a way to look back on the things I've done with pride.  It's no longer just a stack of pictures.  It's a stack of pictures that I've  transformed into something more meaningful - with explanations, receipts, mementos, meaning, love.  Deep down, I hope someday my kids and grandkids will see it, too.  "What were you wearing in this one?"  "You went where and did what?" I can just hear it now.

I'm currently working on our honeymoon scrapbook.  Yes, more than a year and a half later.  Good news, though - I'm almost done!  I have a few more scrapbooks waiting in line, begging to be started, so if you're a scrapbooker, let me know!  I'd love to get together.

At the end of the day, when I run out of creative things to do, everything gets put back in its place, and things return to normal.  And . . . wait.  This isn't normal.  Our dining room table never looks like this!  I guess that's an issue for a different therapy session.

Until then...