Solar Rehab

S.A.D.

Seasonal affective disorder.  It's here. It showed up around the end of November, I think. Just snuck right in without me noticing at first. I'm pretty sure it crawled in through a window one night when I was dead to the world, the sneaky bastard. It'll be here until March, at least. Talk about unwelcome visitors...

The holidays are coming, too. Bastards. The marketing devils and commercializing gurus of Wal-Mart and Target have killed Jesus (again).  God forbid you don't get your kid that new cell phone or cute little laptop for Christmas.

Hey, all the cool kids on the Wal-Mart commercial have them. If you really loved me, Mom, you'd sell your soul for that awesome Guitar Hero game. You'd lower yourself to stand in line for two hours at 4:00 in the morning while your Thanksgiving dinner is still digesting.

I'd rather shave with a chainsaw. Meanwhile, I'm putting up with the hype like the rest of us, S.A.D. in tow. 

Hurry up, January. I loathe wishing my life away, but it's beats going with the mundane flow. Besides, all I really want for Christmas is peace of mind. Some rum punch. A little naughty to spice up the nice, perhaps.

I guaran-damn-tee you that Wal-Mart doesn't carry any of that.

One of Those Days

I think I may have left my other personality in Pennsylvania. I remember that chick. She was awfully content, if not altogether hedonistic. She smiled much more than the other half that I've brought down south with me. She was fun. I miss her.

It's just one of those days... Words won't come easily. Thoughts, either.  Quiet is as elusive as my peace of mind.  I've always been sort of discomforted by silence, anyway. Between the kids, the dog, the incessant ringing of the phone, the doorbell, the parrot, and the Sunday afternoon traffic, I should be at peace.

I've changed, I suppose.

That other chick would have never felt sorry for herself. She would have rather eaten razor blades than to lay in bed in a pathetic heap of sobs and kleenex on a Friday night. Bullshit. She wouldn't have stood for it.

Maybe I can convince her to come on down to North Carolina with the rest of us. We'll see.

In the mean time, the hateful now, I have to way too much to consider. I've been offered another position as a pediatric nurse. I'm thinking about it. I still haven't replaced the Jeep; the rental is sufficing for now. The holidays are approaching. I'm thinking about (and dreading) them, as well. I go back to work tomorrow for the first time since the accident. I don't want to think about that.

I am still intuitive enough to know when it's time to put my waders on -- it is getting deep fast.  Deeper than it's ever been, I'm afraid. I think that I am truly on my own for the first time in my entire life. It's an ass kicker.

I lament the back porch days, those lazy afternoons when a neighborhood full of kids roamed my back yard. When that other cool chick and I would have a meeting of the minds and share the rum punch. We had lofty aspirations. Big ideas. Good ideas, at that.

We wanted to be a great mom, sister, daughter, and friend. We would someday find us a handsome pirate and sail off into an azure existence of adventure and hedonistic fancies. We would consider hitching up with that lucky pirate only if Jimmy Buffett would vouch for his booty.  We would always come out clean on the other side, whatever that would entail.

It is indeed just one of those days. Then again, maybe it's hormones. Or the chilly weather. Seasonal affective disorder may be kicking in a bit early this year...

It snows here in November, after all. So much for escapism!