So, the Fall lasted a week. The Littlest Blizzard* is melting, and it’s warmed up to 39 F. I wasn’t ready for winter. I think everyone has Seasonal Affective Disorder, (making its status as a disorder questionable.) They make up shit to sell more drugs.
Conditioning advert: Are the cold, dark, dreary days making you depressed?
Everyone alive: Duh!
CA: You need more drugs.
I’ve been busy setting up my apartment in preparation for the inevitable depression hibernation season. I’m better at recognizing the earliest signs of depression seeping in. Irritability over silly shit? Check. Also, my body is continuously sliding back into survival mode for no apparent reason. (I’m more conscious of my physical self these days.) I have (full length) mirrored closet doors in my apartment. I glance at myself sometimes, and I look like I’m making random gang signs while walking on an uneven surface after someone poured ice down my back. Fat-the-whuck?
The worst part is, I strongly suspect I’ve been walking around like this for years. It feels too natural to be a once in a while thing. Why does my body think I’m a west coast gang member cringe-walking during an earthquake? Do I do this in public? I’m going with no because nobody has said anything. I mean. If I saw someone walking like that in Sioux Falls, would I say something? Damn. (I’m probably on YouTube against my will.) Sigh. I’m going to add music to my relaxation routine. I’ll play F.U.B.U., by Solange, while I breathe in my Embodiment Oil. And use the massager to force my body to stop (doing shit that can get me killed in California.)
Hopefully, it’ll take this time. Maybe I should watch the screen saver on my AppleTV 4k, too. May as well hit all the senses while I’m at it. With the latest update, the screen saver got a lot better. (I’m still debating whether it’s live footage shot at a low frame rate or CGI.) Either way, I enjoy it. I pause The Office whenever I get up to do something, which is every few minutes. I should add hyperactivity to my list of warning signs. And insomnia. (You wouldn’t believe the shit I thought up to worry about last night. Alien related.)
I’ve set up all my abandoned monitors and HDTVs as computer workstations or console gaming stations. (I don’t have Craigslist energy.) Between gaming, TV, and synthesizers, I don’t anticipate needing the heat much. Last week kicked my ass. My apartment complex was doing winter preparations, such as having the carpets cleaned in the common areas of all the buildings. Unfortunately, this meant the insanely loud droning of the carpet cleaner truck for 3-5 hours every morning starting at 8.
It was inescapable. My noise-canceling headphones didn’t help much. On top of that, the driveway leading to underground parking was under construction. At first, they said to remove our cars by Wednesday morning if we wanted to use them during construction. Then we got an email on Tuesday morning, informing us we had an hour to move them, or too bad. I was in the shower, preparing for my dental appointment. When I emerged and saw the email, time was up. And the droning of the carpet cleaning truck was still wailing and echoing off the other buildings.
I managed to text a friend before melting, but barely. (The power of a friend acknowledging your situation sucks ass is surprisingly helpful in coping.) Just as I was beginning to visualize strangling the (innocently by-standing) carpet cleaner, the droning ceased. I messaged the dental clinic to let them know I was trapped. Then I committed to
winning surviving this epic battle against berating myself for missing the appointment again. Sigh. I lost a leg in an ambush this morning, but it’ll grow back. (Mental limbs heal faster with/post-therapy.)
I’m leaning heavily on comedians at this time. The Office is streaming now. I watched The Read Late Night on Fuse (via app) three times so far. My face hurt from laughing. (The sign-off had me on the floor.) I love everything about it. I listened to Dana Carvey on Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend podcast. Dana Carvey and Conan are now, The Comedians Who Made Me Pull an Abdominal Muscle From Laughing. (It just occurred to me my comedy titles might not be as flattering as intended.)
I wrote the names of all the comedians who have made me belly laugh on my whiteboard. I keep adding more while gangsta-crawking (it’s a word now) past. Each name evokes happy memories from different periods of my life. I still remember the awe at being allowed to watch a rated R movie (The Jerk) and understanding the humor. I used to randomly call my sister, Heather, and say, I was born a poor black chile, then hang up to the sound of her laughing. We scream-laughed when we first heard Steve Martin say it.
I haven’t been able to read much of late because I’m too hyper, and my mind won’t cooperate. It alarms me as reading is fundamental. Heh. I’m going to switch to audiobooks and see if it helps. Oofda, it’s going to be a long winter. At least I have everything I can control tilted in my favor. I’m going to get through this winter without being the Depression Monsters bitch. I got this. I’m off to watch Deon Cole’s Cole Hearted on Netflix. (I love him.) ✌🏽💜
*Thanks, Narcoleptic Aspie.