Sunday, March 10, 2019

Here Comes The Sun

Daylight Savings Time has come, and I could not be more happy.

There are an infinity of news articles relating a spike in strokes, heat attacks, car-smashups, and unproductive days on the Monday following DST, but I just don't get it.

When you have insomnia, DST literally means nothing.

"Spring forward", lose an hour of sleep.

"Fall Back", gain one.

Blah, blah, blah.

Living with sporadic insomnia, none of those times mean a damn thing when it comes to sleep patterns, REM sleep, loss/gain of hours.

For about a decade, DST has meant absolutely nothing to me -- coming OR going -- which makes DST just about as life-affecting as my FWBs. 

However, going off of DST in 2018 had a massively profound effect on me.  

Why?

No fucking clue, it just did.

November 2018-December 2018 were 2 of the hardest months of my life, and I have no actual reason why.

All I know is that I was so depressed when the sun set as I was wrapping up my work day, that I didn't even want to leave my desk.

Anyone that reads this blog on the regular -- hellloooo, Russians, according to my 'stats; -- knows that I have gained a shit-ton of weight in the last 12 months.  Some of it was guilt, some of it was gluttony, but most of it was just because I was so depressed at locking my office door in the pitch black, that the concept of cooking food in my house made me want to rip my left arm off and club myself over the head with it.

If you knew how much $$$ I have forked over to DoorDash the last 4 months so that my child doesn't get scurvy from eating food solely out of boxes or cans, you would be sick.

I know I am.

Literally sick.

Every dollar I spend, I equate to how many hours at work it took to earn it.  Granted, I am paid very well (thanks, MT and ARS!!), but I legit could be driving my new Charger to Hawaii with the money I have squandered on delivery food recently. 

It's so bad that my daughter -- who avoids the 'w' word - work - like the plague, suggested I start driving for DoorDash in my 'spare' (HAH!) time to offset the money I am hemorrhaging.

Anyway, in addition to not cooking, I have holed myself up in my bedroom, drinking sparkling water (seriously, it's an addiction), and trying on clothes that will no longer fit over my ever-expanding girth, and them throwing them on the floor.  My closet looks like a graveyard for hangers, and my bedroom looks like Goodwill vomited all over the floor.  

There was some very brave (deranged) woman that posted a pic of her crazy, messy kitchen on Insta and explained that depression was unwashed dishes, food thrown out and not eaten, and un-mopped floors.  

While I would never be crazy (brave) enough to post a picture of my bedroom on any social media site, let it suffice to say that my bedroom is a direct expression of my mental turmoil.

This year, the dark affected me worse than it ever has.

This year, the dark crept into my windows and over my heart.

I, legit, don't know why.

I just know that the early dark made me want to run away and hide from everything I would have normally done -- oil change, laundry, eating right, cooking dinner, reading stories, hanging up clothes, recycling Vos bottles and Lacroix, Bubly, Perrier, and Dasani cans, watching movies, listening to music, etc.

I have spent less time with family and friends the last 4 months than I ever have in my entire life.

I packed an additional 15 pounds of pure lard onto my small, but manly, frame in the past 4 months.

I have not gone out and done anything on the weekends, except when I absolutely had to, in the past 4 months.

I have dissembled, prevaricated, cancelled, and flaked more in the last 4 months than I ever have in my whole life.

I am not entirely sure why that is.  As someone that is far more comfortable with self-deprecation than introspection, I have managed to do a fine job at shoving all of this into the Scarlett O'Hara-approved, "I-won't-think-about-this-today-I-will-think-about-this-tomorrow" box, which may not be the best way to handle things.

Until today.

The kiddos wanted to stay inside and play video games, but I insisted on a trip to the park.

They ran and played in the gloriously sunny, but chilly and windy, day.

I played too.

I jumped on a swing and went so high Lexi cautioned me against breaking it -- but that may have been because she was assessing my girth vs. the 75lb kids the swing was built for, and not because of my aerodynamic excellence.  

Just saying.

I didn't care, though, I just pumped my legs and got so high the chains went slack and snapped on the way down.  When I went up I went so high it felt like I could have done a loop-the-loop over the top bar.

Exhilarating.

Just like third grade.

I went down the twisty slide so fast, it spilled me out onto the bark chips.  

Bliss.

I raced my 12-year-old child and she beat me twice -- beat me, the 100 and 400 yard-dash blue ribbon-winner (clearly a sign I need to get on the treadmill STAT), but I just laughed and ran back to the play structure to go down the slide one more time.

When we went home, I sorted the thrift-shop-explosion on my floor into 'Keep because you are too fat for everything else", "Donate because you haven't worn that in 5 years", and "Keep because you will wear this again when you are not a fucking hippo" piles.

I recycled the sparkling water containers, and then smudged my room with cedar and lavender.

Am I turning over a new leaf?

Studies would tell you that an old dog (moi) can not learn new tricks.

But I can tell you that I saw this at 7:15 tonight.

LIGHT.





And it was enough.

Enough to get me fired up.

Enough to get me excited about tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after that.

Enough to smile at the darkness, knowing it will be shorter tonight than it has been for months.

That's enough for me.

1 comment:

Goca-Cola said...

It seems that it's natural to go through a lull period occasionally through life. I think it depends on how long that period lasts that determines if there is an underlying issue with severity.

Sad But True

So, I’ve been reading Stephen King’s 11/23/63 novel the last few days, and I cannot help feeling personally attacked tonight by it. The book...