Not My favorite Time of the Year

The proceeding words are written by a person who becomes seasonally depressed. I’ve not yet been formally diagnosed. I only know my history, my patterns, and my experiences. I’ve been cautious to really go out on a limb and say that it is what affects me every fall and winter, but considering that this is my third fall in a row where I am indescribably sad for no good reason, it seems to be the only logical conclusion.

For the past three consecutive Septembers/Octobers, I’ve become dejected, moody, uninterested, and uncharacteristically sad. I thought that because I am in a new place with no one I know nearby that perhaps I was just dealing with a minor bout of the blues due to small twinges of isolation. But my friends and family are readily available by phone and I can communicate with them whenever need be. It is usually satisfying. After one such phone call today, I cried a bit, and then it struck me. It’s officially fall, the weather sucks, and it’s been a good seven days without any kind of sunlight. Hi, SAD. You’re a jerk. Go away.

 

Sometimes, naming the thing helps. Other tactics I will employ:

  • Vitamin D.
  • Omega- 3 (or maybe just eat more fishes)
  • Yoga (yeah, buddy)
  • Melatonin (for the sleeps)
  • Phototherapy (major lamp action)

I may be a bit of an Eeyore and that may suck, but I’m not going to just sit here and take it.

 

 

Truth: Being alone is hard.

I don’t do it well. I mindlessly spend money, distract myself from the tasks at hand. I wander aimlessly through my quiet, lonely apartment. I eat for consolation. Hell, I eat out of rebellion. I am not one that enjoys the solitude because the solitude brings thoughts that I can’t bear.

I think about writing. I think about what it would be like to have finally accomplished the book I’ve been working on. I console myself with knowing that some of the greatest works ever published took years. It’s just another thing to keep me from doing what I don’t want to do. I have to get inside myself and find a way to love this woman as she is, instead of how she might be or could be. I have to love myself, not my potential.

I have to come to terms with the fact that my children will grow up, that my lover will either one day die or leave, that my friends will move on with their lives, and I will still have myself to contend with. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be in myself at this moment and love the person here. Am I worthy of my own love? Of my own dedication and commitment? Love me, so that I may love me? When will I be out of this cycle?

I’ve listed the many ways that I am worthy of love. I’ve detailed my supreme qualities. I’ve been equally doted on and dismissed, and yet all I can do is focus on the many ways that I’ve been dismissed. My, how we humans love to self-castigate. For what reason? Is the religious doctrine we’ve been pummeled with for centuries? If I hate myself enough, if I am good enough, perfect enough, sinless enough, God will love me, people will love me. I’ll never be alone then.

But it isn’t true. I’ve treated people with a surprising amount of tenderness, love, and consideration. I’ve placed the needs of other above my own, time and time again; only to have been left to fend for myself, by myself. Solipsistic, maybe. But it’s all I’ve ever known.

The D Word…

Let’s be really real about something for a minute.

Dating as a single mom sucks. Your life is already jam-packed with kid shenanigans – be it doctor appointments, birthday parties, school events – not to mention, the crap from your ex(es) you’ll have to deal with; plus finding the brain space to function in a work environment. Oh, and if you’re anything like me, go ahead and try to complete that Bachelor’s while you’re at it. You barely have time for your friends, even your mom-friends, let alone dating.

Dating can be one more thing that, while fun, can add a whole new layer of whatthefuck to your already stacked shitcake. More than likely, all the baggage you’ve got from your past relationship(s), of which you cannot really escape (kids aren’t baggage, just so we’re clear), stares you in the face and will do so until the kid is at least 18 years old. 25, if you’re counting college time.  Continue reading

grumblegrumblegrumble

Tired.

 

I am really, thoroughly exhausted and I don’t want to be. I’ve drank two cups of coffee. But you know what, it might be time to bring out the big guns (pre-workout).

My eldest kid told me yesterday that she wanted to start running to get her body ready for playing soccer and basketball next year. In my family, we are not terribly athletic. I practice yoga and sometimes run – and that’s about it. No one else in my family cares two toots about health – even with obesity, diabetes, and heart disease being major players in our collective health history. So, when my kid takes an interest in sports and health, I’m all about it.

She asked me to run with her. At 6am.

I remember being ten, feeling fat and unhealthy, and asking my mom to help me. She did what she could, but she didn’t really know much about what to eat or not eat or what to do or not do. Mom always had a slim frame, so weight wasn’t an issue for her. I’ve been interested in health since then and I’ve accumulated a lot of information. Now, I’m not in tip-top, perfect health, but I can, at least, go run with my kid in the morning.

So I did. I’m just really tired now.

 

So, some things I’m trying to accomplish today:

  • This paper I don’t want to write.
  • A powerpoint based on the paper I don’t want to write.
  • Three other random assignments that I hope won’t take longer than 20 minutes each.
  • Inspection for the vehicle.
  • Random errands.

 

 

Back to homework! Right?

Maybe.

 

Mojo locator.

Using this entry mostly as an exercise to prepare myself to tackle the eleven class assignments I’ve shrugged off for the past few weeks. This is my second attempt at getting my mind right. The first try I ran the numbers on how much money I’ve invested in school and how much educational benefits adds to my coiffer. Let’s just say I have a motivation issue.

If I had my own business and ran it like I do my life, or like I do most things, it would probably not last long. I procrastinate, get emotional, feel indignant, let my ego drive. I hate long-term projects and even now, as I’m writing this, I’m thinking about work and how it doesn’t excite me. It is probably due to my “awesome” coworkers. It dawned on me yesterday afternoon that my work environment most closely resembles that of a junior high school culture. The clique is made up of bullies and if you’re not one of them, you’ll never be. I thought for a while it was me, but it’s not. It’s cool. I tend to hate most anyone after 12 consecutive hours together.

Different job prospects should be enough of a motivator, too. There is a lot I can do once this degree is finished. I wonder if my apathy is because of the seasonal change or the lack of exercise and sunlight. I could fix it. I need to. There’s always tomorrow.

 

It isn’t that I’m not serious about finishing school. It is that I’ve taken on the duties of three separate people and I’m wore out. I work full time. I parent full time. I go to school full time. I’m tapped into different people, different goals, different hobbies. My life is full. It’s a wonderful thing. But it’s also an exhausting thing. I’d love to do nothing today, but I did nothing for two days last week. So I really must find my mojo.

This summer was weird.

Most people  I know had a really weird, off-putting summer. Unexpected life events took some by surprise. Others were blindsided, sidelined, benched…

I made the big move. My kids and I no longer live in Nashville. I miss it occasionally. But Virginia is just as green, with hills that gently roll  and a climate that isn’t overwhelmingly humid. For as metropolitan as D.C. is, it’s still not as gray as Houston was. People are still surprisingly Southern here and I’m learning that isn’t just Southernese that people fluently speak. It’s a completely new dialect of Corporatese, which is familiar and disgustingly thick with subversiveness. I’m learning, too, that things concerning my career are not all that different from what I had previously. People still do peopley things. They still undercut one another – and others will go above and beyond to help out a stranger.

There is upward momentum here. There are options, choices, different career paths available, which is much more than Nashville could offer me. At the heart of it, I do think that being able to connect with people will be the deciding factor. I don’t believe it’s about being well-connected – I still think it’s about not being an asshole.

My kids had a fun summer with their grandmother and dad. They came home with bronzed skin, full bellies, and plenty of stories to share. We are rebuilding our lives right now; we’re learning how to make do with not very much and they’re excited about it. I love that we’ve learned how to be content with barren walls, a futon, a couple of air mattresses. One never needs much to be content.  It’s us against the world – always has been – but the world is probably not as scary as we’ve been led to believe. It has scary elements, a few broken people, but it’s a mostly good place.

Maybe I’m too much the optimist.