Jenni Berrett

It was the night before my father’s funeral that I finally asked the tarot for help. I was incapable of imagining a future where I delivered his eulogy.

Marina, if you're reading this, please be our BFF.

I’ve been mentally ill pretty much my whole entire life, and it isn’t something I see going away any time soon. I don’t see that as an inherently bad thing.

In the midst of struggling with being depressed, you’re also saddled with the practical realities of staying alive. It’s no easy feat.

The premise is pretty simple: We each give you one thing to watch, one thing to listen to, and one thing to read over the weekend.

...self-care is a process. Ideally, you treat yourself with kindness daily, engaging in acts of self care that function as either a reminder to relax in the midst of everyday stresses, part of a life saving regimen to sustain your mental well being, or a little bit of both.

Culturally speaking, though, it’s pretty much set in stone. Even if I left the church entirely, there’s no getting out of my heritage. Cut me open; I’ll bleed funeral potatoes. I’m what you call a “legacy Mormon” — my ancestors migrated across the frontier and settled in Utah (then Mexico) after facing unspeakable persecution from countless communities in the United States. You probably know my ancestors best as the people with the wives.

There is a lot on the Internet to read about the tragic Charleston shooting that took place late Wednesday night. Here are a few noteworthy tweets to get started with.

Part of me wants to write this off as innocuous and carry on with my day, because homophobia is already everywhere and there are better things for me to dedicate my words to — but then I remember 10-year old me.

Here we are, your fearless Internet explorers (pun totally intended), back with another melange of web flotsam for you to scavenge.