Effing S.A.D.

she's so happy she's going to eat the whole bowl of fruit!

I used to think it was funny that someone came up with "Seasonal Affective Disorder" to make "sad" sound less pathetic and more like an actual, clinical diagnosis, but I'm not laughing now.

That shit is real, and now I blame Canada for making it especially bad. Fucking Canada. I also picked the wrong month to stop eating doughnuts.

If I could open a vein and shove a dozen doughnuts in there along with a pot of coffee, I would do it. I have a Cuisinart.

At first I thought it was just the lack of sugar and my serotonin levels were all frakked up. Then I thought it was my ever-volatile hormones pickling my brain. Now I'm pretty sure it's just winter - that shitty, shitty bitch.

Living in the Bay Area, we usually don't get much "winter." We might get a few storms that can knock a bird turd off the hood of my car, but that's about it.

Supposedly there's an El Niño this year - that's Spanish for "THE Niño" - and "the storm door is open," so we just had a shit ton of storms come through, one after the other for about a week. It seems like it's been much longer.

I love the rain, especially a fierce storm with thunder and lightning. What I don't love is having to turn on all the lights in the house at 10am.

The depression kicked in again this week - just enough to kill any shred of motivation I might have had to be productive in some way, but not so much that I couldn't eventually find a way to put on pants and drag my ass to the store, which I did today only because the cats were out of food and YOU DO NOT RUN OUT OF CAT FOOD if you want to keep the skin on your face.

Now I understand the desire to take a pill - any pill - if it might bring relief from the endless inertia and apathy.

Rather than take a pill, I went to a trusted remedy - caffeine and sugar. That's right - I broke my resolution and had fully-leaded Peet's coffee and a granola bar with cane juice and chocolate. I had to. I couldn't wear that fleece robe one minute longer and watch any more bad TV. After a while it's no longer comforting, it's just lame.

I tried just the caffeine first, trying to avoid the stronger drug - sugar. After some Peet's half caf I didn't feel any different, but the delicious flavor made the drive to Pet Club a little less boring.

By the time I got to Trader Joe's I was feeling a little better, but bought the chocolate-coated chewy granola bars anyway. Popped one of those with the last of the coffee and sure as shit, I'm feeling fine now.

Some of you might be thinking, Oh Nootsie, you should have just laced up your trainers and gone out for a run, and to that I say go run yourself into an oncoming train.

When I was *sooper* depressed a couple of weeks ago and posted something about it on Facebook, someone said I should "do some cardio! it totally helps!" You can shove your cardio in your ass.

If you've ever been depressed, you don't just "do some cardio!" Depression precludes doing just about anything. And the shit running through your head keeps you heading farther down the rabbit hole - it's like a virus that replicates faster than you can try to kill it.

Thankfully, mine only gets so bad and I know it's temporary and I know it'll pass and I know I can still function if I have to and I know if I really need to, a little caffeine and carbs can help, but it doesn't make it any easier when I'm in that hole.

Maybe I'll break down and buy that incredibly ugly lamp for SADful people, then bask in its glow with a vat of Peet's and a case of Krispy Kremes until spring comes.

That Was Rough

Day 9 - feeling MUCH better. Got some exercise, good food, lots of sleep and quality time with David. I knew the sadfulness would pass, but it was a long, dreary week. It's felt like a month, really.

It hasn't been difficult to avoid sugar & caffeine (and booze), that's actually been easy. The depressed mood wasn't easy, but it makes sense.

Remember the super low-fat, high-carb diets of the 80s? I ate like that for years, especially being a runner - it's drilled into your head to avoid fat & load up on bagels, pasta, bread, etc.

It's a reasonable assumption that eating like that for many years can alter how your body produces & uses serotonin. At any rate, now that I've cut all that out, shit's been wonky but seems to be settling into a new rhythm.

The sugar cravings are gone - totally gone. This afternoon I stopped at Peet's for a cup of decaf and didn't gaze longingly into the pastry case. I used to *love* snacking on citrus bread or a maple scone with my coffee - didn't even think of it.

Now it seems like I'm craving vegetables and "clean" food, even when it's cold and foggy out. Last year at this time I was eating my weight in steaks, pork chops and potatoes - couldn't get enough. Didn't touch a salad for months. Nothing green. Green does not help insulate you from the bone-chilling cold (and boredom) of a Canadian winter.

And now I seem to be dreaming a lot more - really vivid dreams. Actual nighttime sleepy type dreams, not the I want to find a billion dollars in my bank account type dreams, which, if you're listening Universe, get to it - make it happen.

Hope the good feeling continues. If so, I may stay off sugar forever.

Serotonin Free

It's Day 8 and I'm still off sugar, booze and caffeine. Although it's impossible to be totally caffeine-free unless I give up decaf coffee, which I'm not going to do, so you can blow me.

It's been that sort of week. I thought it was PMS, which I want to think is mostly to blame, but now I'm DMS and usually by this point the mood issues are long gone.

Today was difficult. If we didn't have TV, I'd have spent the whole day staring at the wall. I did that once years ago when I lived in the Western Addition in a haunted house and my car got totaled and I couldn't quickly get the heck outta town. That wasn't a good time.

It hasn't gotten that bad, but today was the most depressed I've felt in a long time. I didn't think I ate that much sugar every day, but I definitely went on a bender during the holidays.

Way too many biscotti, chocolate chip cookies of all sorts, lemon tarts, pumpkin pies, and some dastardly petit fours from Trader Joe's in ridiculously delicious deep chocolate flavors.

I was bingeing like a drug addict right before checking into rehab. I wondered if I might be making a big mistake by doing that.

I'd started the decaf process in mid-December - I knew how painful cold turkey would be - but now I think I'm really starting to feel it. I'm getting that withdrawal headache in the afternoons and yawning. A LOT.

Thankfully the headache is mild, nothing like the cold-turkey variety that makes you want to saw your head off with a Leatherman and pour hot coffee into your skull.

The one bright spot is losing 2 lbs without even trying. That helps make some of the sadfulness worth it. If that keeps up, I'll gladly watch more bad TV while crumpled on the couch crying softly into my blankie.

I Hate Flashbacks Pie

It was between Waitress and Michael Clayton and I chose Waitress thinking that would be a sweet, upbeat Friday night movie. The pies looked sweet. The flashbacks, not so much.

I didn't realize the husband character was so terrible. That part wasn't easy to watch.

My former life came up at dinner the other night with people who knew me then. No one seemed to have any idea what was behind his public face that was always smiling and happy. That makes it worse, to hide it like that.

At least the character in the movie was horrible all the time, out in the open, where everyone could see it. He wasn't conniving and manipulative so all his friends would think what a great guy he was while at home he's throwing shit at his wife while telling her how worthless she is.

But it all worked out in the end. That worthless wife left him when he least expected it (happy valentine's day!), left him flailing in a pool of debt, then repo'ed the car right out from under his nose. Now *that* was sweet!

New Word - Columbarium

Sounds like a type of enema, and perhaps in a sense, it's the ultimate enema. I don't even know what that means - I'm already rambling.

Went to Satellite's memorial service today at the Columbarium of San Francisco - a place I'd never heard of before today.

I kept thinking about Mary Richards at the funeral for the clown, how she couldn't stop laughing. I fully expected to be sitting there laughing my ass off.

The place was so cold, truly like a morgue, but thankfully they had hot coffee there. I was fortunate to sit next to Mir, who had the foresight to pack kleenex and joined me in making funny comments only we could hear.

If you have to go to a memorial service/funeral, you'll want her with you. She, like me, is comfortable making inappropriate remarks in such situations.

I wore a leather jacket he used to think was cool, made from thick, pebbled leather - but it makes that leathery creaky noise, so during the service I had to remain very still. I drank my coffee by bending my head down into my cup rather than lift my hand & creak while someone was speaking. It must have looked like I didn't have full use of my upper limbs.

It was a good service and felt good to share stories and remember how hilarious he was. He would be pleased that most of those stories were of a very inappropriate nature.

G'Bye Satellites

Yesterday a friend called with very sad news. His friend is gone, by his own doing.

A horrible thing for him and the entire family - worse yet for the two little girls who will grow up without their dad.

We all used to work together some years ago. He was one of the smartest, funniest people I'd met. While talking about vacuum cleaners in a meeting one day he said "I want a vacuum so strong it'll suck the stink right off the dog," and I spewed coffee all over the computer keyboard.

Then there was the time when a strange, hilarious website called JustATip.com came out - a website that allowed you to anonymously provide numerous "tips" to friends and loved ones from recommending they prune their personal area to dealing with their bad breath or to stop swearing so much, and much more - there were many helpful tips to choose from.

One day, soon after a new art director started, I received a JustaTip that told me I should stop talking like a drunken sailor - it was becoming offensive and negatively affecting others.

I must have stared at my monitor for 20 minutes replaying the conversation I'd just had with the new art director, certain I'd kept it clean - I always did that at first. But there must have been something I'd said and now couldn't remember - jesus fucking christ what had I said???

And then he started laughing. He'd been watching the growing panic on my face and couldn't take it anymore. Bastard. I was two seconds away from running back to the art director to apologize.

He also used to tell a story about a retarded (his word, not mine) kid he went to grammar school with who did a report on satellites, except the kid yelled when he talked, so everything he said was hollered at full volume. It still makes me laugh every time I think of it.

Sadly, I didn't get to work with him as much as I'd have liked. He was much smarter than most and there seemed to be nothing he couldn't figure out.

And now. It's just tragic and senseless.

On one hand I think Coward - he took the easy way out. On the other hand, I can't begin to imagine how it feels to decide that's the only option left, let alone follow through to the ultimate end.

When I read about Spalding Gray stepping off the Staten Island ferry into the cold dark waters of the East River, I was angry. That asshole. He and his amazing gift was gone forever, and the most horrible thing I couldn't understand was how he could do that to his own kids, especially after he had to live with the aftermath of his own mother's suicide.

And now, two more kids are left fatherless. If your own kids can't give you that one last safety line to help you stick around, then there really must be nothing (in your own mind) left to live for. Really?

There's much more to it than this, I know. It's all just too incomprehensible. If shit's getting really impossible to manage, start cleaning house, in a hurry. Clean house, circle the wagons, and find the courage to make a path out of it. Easy for me to say, right?

But if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the people you'll leave behind, the people who will have to clean up your mess and deal with the shit you couldn't find a way to deal with. Think of someone else, and maybe that's the key to start fixing your shit.

I am Jack's wasted life. I am Jack's colon. I am Jack's broken heart.
And time moves on.

p.s. 02/20/08 - I've since learned that Mr. Satellites had a long, long struggle with mental illness and was likely bi-polar, but misdiagnosed, which explains a helluva lot. It's tragic to think that had he only been properly treated, he may have enjoyed a very long, happy life.

Children of Sad

Gah... If you're in the mood for a good cry, go see Children of Men. I knew it would be dark and sad, but I went anyway.

Great film, but I'm done seeing movies that paint such a bleak picture of what could be. It makes me focus too much on how fucked up things are and how not enough people seem to give a shit and we're all ultimately doomed.

Maybe it can be a good thing to show a view of a dystopian future to wake up those who need it, but for those of us doing what we can to make a good future, already sensitive to the horribleness going on, it's a little overwhelming. Or as some say, it's very sadful.