Welp, it’s that time again.
It’s only 4:45 and it’s already dark as shit outside. The passing cars aren’t so much cars as just passing lights that kick up vales of water in their wake, and the people on the sidewalks have their hoods scrunched up over their faces. When you go outside, you have to duck your head so that your nose doesn’t freeze off, and no matter where you walk, your pant hems will always be soaked by the time you come inside.
For the past few years I’ve staved off my mild seasonal depression and come through the winter relatively unscathed, but this week has hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of that stupid car crash. The therapist that I am supposed to go to (to assure that the wreck didn’t make me crazy) did a many-question assessment which says that I have some post traumatic stress. This seems insanely indulgent to me, to call my recent bout of funk post traumatic stress, but I ain’t got no degrees in psycholology or nuthin’, so I’m inclined to believe the good doctor. Post traumatic stress. Man. That could kill a conversation.
Anyway, as I said, this week has just murdered me completely, and not for any particular reason. I’m tired all the time. I’m anxious and kinda wigged out. I’m in this phase where I want to do nothing and everything all at the same time. I feel like a cat that doesn’t know whether she wants to be in or out. Do I want to draw? Yes, I think I want to draw…I’ll just get my paper and pencil and…nope. I don’t want to draw. Do I want to do the dishes? Yes, I need to do the dishes. They’re stacking up and I’m shirking. I’ll just get the water going and put my tunes on and…nope. I don’t want to do the dishes. Do I want to play Pokemon? Do I want to make the bed? Do I want to write? Play Batman? Take a shower? Watch cartoons? Nope. Nope. Nope nope nope noooo. I haven’t even really been answering e-mails for the last couple of days, and you guys, e-mails are like, my favorite thing because I am eighty five years old and the acknowledgment that somebody knows I’m alive just drives me batty with glee. I’ve got about six e-mails in my inbox that I keep meaning to answer. They’re all pithy little things that I could answer with a single word, if I wanted, but I just can’t get up to it, so they’re sitting there gathering e-dust while the poor senders wait with bated breath for my e-reply.
All I want to do is bundle up on the couch and hibernate.
The therapist promises me that this’ll get ironed out with treatment.
I think that Thanksgiving will cheer me up thoroughly, even if it’s just a little Thanksgiving. I grew up with holidays full of people, people piled into the house and spilling out the windows, all laughing and arguing and telling stories over each other. This year there will be five of us, but there will also be a turkey and Dad’s potpourri (throw water, oranges, nutmeg, cinnamon, whatever else you like in a pot, turn heat onto lowest setting). Oh, and boxed stuffing, which is basically God’s own special contribution to non-perishable foods. I could eat boxed stuffing for days on end. Screw the yams. STUFFING. IT’S ALL THAT MATTERS.
What are you all doing for Thanksgiving? Family? Friends? Tolerated acquaintances?