I’m 90% sure I mentioned it at one of the library conferences where I got to say hi, but this comic is 100% why any pug I might ever own will be named “Goblin”

At some point, I look forward to passing on the tradition of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.

Having spent my life on the side of being lucky rather than being good, having friends who have put in the work for their incredibly well-earned success is my best source of grounding. I can be clever, they get to be wise.

Old-timer walks in: “What is this? The home for hopeless husbands?”

Younger guy says that it’s his first year as one, and gets a round of congrats from the store.

Bunch of dudes complimenting each other’s choices, comparing what their spouses like.

One guy mentions that he called in an order and everyone goes “ooooooohhhhh.”

Pictured: an actual effing smile.

So it certainly isn’t the end of the story, but after years of working with depression, I’m working through it instead.

And last week, for the first time in years, I felt joy at work.

Not just relief, honest to goodness joy.

Everyone deserves that.

No mistake, I’m still happy to be the Shit-Magnet Cassandra of Library Science. Because I’ve got a damn good track record there.

But relying on raw nerve endings just to feel is a horrible way to get through life, and entirely counterproductive to any healing.

It took more time than I care to admit for me to realize just how much I was relying on that adrenaline rush.

I started seeing the potential for problems in places they might not exist. And I stopped just mercilessly short of creating crises of my own.

The last 5 years have provided no shortage of crises. And I had a front row seat to watch friends and colleagues get hit with the ones I managed to dodge.

But what happens when the crisis ends?

In my particular brand of depression, there have always been a few motivating factors that can cut through the fuzz and put me to work. Chief among those is a crisis.