Now that I’m housed, instead of doing van chores, I do apartment chores in my nice warm dry apartment. Doing van chores in the rain sucks. Getting wet while fetching tools from the trunk gets old, especially when you have only one jacket and a limited number of dry pants and socks. Doing apartment chores is easier in the sense that you don’t get wet while you do them (unless you are scraping turkey poop off the back patio). However, indoor chores, for me anyway, are hard because I keep stopping to stare morosely out the sliding door to see if the rain has stopped.
Rain west of the Oregon Cascades is named based on intensity: Mist, sprinkles, drizzle, showers, downpours. I’m sure there are more labels. A day of rain has often been referred to as a slogfest by one of my favorite former Portland meteorologists.
I’ve set up my computer desk, AKA camping table, facing the patio door so I can monitor the current rain status. If the clouds appear to be thinning or lifting, if I can see a hint of blue sky or see a patch of sun on the grass, I quickly throw on my rain jacket and put on my walking shoes. If I’m lucky I can get a half hour of dry walking before the rain returns and I get drenched.
I have seasonal affective disorder, AKA S.A.D. I’m pretty sure I’ve had it all my life. I dread fall because it inevitably leads to winter, my least favorite season. When I was an adolescent, if the sun was shining, no matter the temperature, I would lean against the thick trunk of a fir tree staring at the sun through my eyelashes. Not a good idea, I know, but I was driven by desperation.
S.A.D. for me manifests as brain fog. You could call it mild depression. If I get enough daylight, the brain fog lifts. During the winter, it takes hours of being out in daylight. Sunshine is the cure. I used to have a lightbox. Maybe it was my imagination, but sitting in front of it close enough to smell the negative ions pouring from the vent seemed to help.
As I got older, my S.A.D. symptoms shifted to spring. April and May became months of melancholy. At one point, I made the mistake of telling a doctor about my brain fog. The doctor sent me to a psychotherapist, who prescribed Prozac. The antidepressant depressed a lot of things but did nothing for the brain fog. In June, I felt much better. The improvement in symptoms confirmed my S.A.D. self-diagnosis. Now I consult Dr. Google, who in my opinion is a lot smarter than that psychotherapist.
Household chores right now involve unpacking and organizing. I like being reunited with all my possesions, meager as they are. I don’t have any furniture yet, so I can’t access some of my stuff, books, for instance. But it’s satisfying to see them in the clear tote bin that is serving as my credenza. It’s fun to get organized. I now have three analog clocks ticking on three different walls. No matter where I am in this tiny apartment, I always know what time it is. Well. Does anyone really know what time it is? But let’s not get all philosophical. I’m just talking about cheap Target wall clocks.
In addition to getting organized, it’s fun to fix things. For example, after I perused a helpful DIY YouTube video, the stove burners are now level. I’ve scraped a little paint off the floor. I applied a few drops of “tranquility” aroma therapy oil, which I’ve carted around for 30 years for some unknown reason, along the baseboards by my bed where I saw a few ant scouts. The ants find it distasteful. I’m not sure I like it either. Just a few minutes ago, I squirted extra strength spray glue to readhere a couple fake wood vinyl floor planks that were lifting up in front of the patio door. I’m not sure if it worked, but it’s always fun to spray glue.
If you’ve read this far, and I’d be surprised if you have, you’ve probably figured out that I have basically nothing to blog about. Nobody bugged me over the holidays. Walmart was calm, even a few days before Christmas. The cashier wasn’t snotty. The weather has been typically wet and chilly but not snowy or freezing. The shower water is hot, the toilet flushes (toilets are amazing), the fridge works . . . really, I can’t find anything to complain about. Didn’t I post last week that I’m still a chronic malcontent? Maybe I was wrong. Other than this stupid cold season, I don’t have much to moan about.
You are probably saying, but Carol, if that is the case, what’s the point of having a blog? To that I would say, go spend your time doing something with actual value, like, I don’t know, watching a Heather Cox Richardson video or getting sucked into a Korean romcom. Just about anything you can think of would be more enlightening than reading this blog. But don’t expect me to stop posting. For me, this blog is better than any psychotherapist.