Jillian Platt

Powder Room

Seven years ago, I wasn't able to get much work done, being a mom with two little girls. At the time my youngest was three years old and I began to realize just how much time I had been spending in public bathrooms waiting for them. There's a time right around potty training when my kids had to visit every bathroom, in every store, restaurant, bus, airplane, rest stop... you name it. We visited it.

So, for one year I documented all of the bathrooms we occupied.

Epic looser or very bored mother? Here it is.

Click the image below for a link to the project. Once in the project, click on a thumbnail image to see it enlarged.

Depression

It's the crippling belief structures. The gaping hole in your gut-or solor plexus-that you can't close or cover....you can curl in a tight ball under the covers, but still everything is rushing in and out. You have no control. No amount of distractions will stop the thoughts in your head...running, clothes shopping, cooking, nail painting, on and on and on. Driving myself crazy. Wishing that I could pop my head off, throw it down a gully and sprout a new one. One that doesn't think so much, that doesn't cause my heart so much pain.

Ohhh, depression. How I hate you. And how I hate that one little pill can slow that merry-go-round to a stop. Like a screaming tea kettle someone has taken off the burner, or a knotted up ball of thread that someone blew air into and now I can see how to untangle it.

Working my way out.