Archive for June, 2007
It is that time of the year yet again. It has been for a while now, but as I get further into the season I find it less and less bearable.
I hate summer. I hate it with as much passion as I can stir, which is actually very little because summer makes me so distressed and depressed that I cannot focus enough to have a passionate hate for it.
I hate sunlight. I hate heat. I do not like to set foot outside during it. If I could stay inside all the time, I would, and it would only help a little. It isn’t just the sun and the heat, it is all encompassing. I am better off if I put off any outings until night, but only marginally. I am less likely to have a total meltdown, but overall my ability to cope with ANYTHING is so diminished during the summer.
I get that I am not normal. There are so many people for whom this is their favorite time of the year. Others, who may not like the heat, might think they understand, but they don’t. Heat can be alleviated, but the overwhelming feeling of being trapped, of having nothing to look forward to, of just being stuck in misery until fall, that, they don’t have. A cold drink, and a nice breeze and they are enjoying their summer activities. The meaning of the word enjoy is almost beyond my grasp for the season.
I try. I try to stay cooler. I try to schedule things in small doses so I can keep on having minimal functionality and don’t have a total collapse, which just upsets me further. I like to get things done. That may be strongly worded. I HATE to not get things done. It really bothers me when I feel my productivity slipping for whatever reason. Truthfully, even vacationing is difficult for me because I am not “getting anything done.” If I go to long without getting enough done, it depresses me. The summer season depresses me. The only thing that alleviates some of the worst symptoms of the summer depression is scaling back my activities, and yet, accomplishing less depresses me. Is anybody able to see the problem here?
My antisocial nature increases, my ability to handle any sort of annoyance decreases. I could cry over drank milk, because it means I need to go to the grocery store to get more, and the grocery store is located outside of my house. It is expensive too. Our electric bills are astronomical because what small grip I have on something resembling normalcy depends on the AC working and working HARD. It cannot be just taking the edge off the heat outside, it needs to be cold, to battle against the looming oppressive heat and light that chip away at my will to breathe. I hate to go to other people’s homes because they will not keep it cool enough. If they come to my home they need a sweater. Not that there is a lot of inviting or accepting invitations. I am not in the mood for interaction and I have no social graces.
The problem has increased with age, and of course our move to SoCal amplified it and lengthened it. Summer here lasts much longer, and when I am the midst of it, I can see no end.
I am living in an endless summer.
If you can call it living.
I don’t have the lack of appetite aspect, but my eating patterns, choices, cravings and ability to be satisfied by or really enjoy food is very different during the summer and they also bother me a lot. Any condition that messes with my enjoyment of food does a lot of damage to my overall mood.
A snippet from a real phone conversation:
(“Him” has a lovely British accent, btw)
Me: Just copy and paste it into the email.
Him: Copy and paste?
Him: What’s that?
Me: Highlight the add…
Me: Use your mouse, and highlight the text and then right cl…
Him: Whoa whoa whoa! You are getting too technical for me. We had better wait until (his assistant) comes in and you can talk to her.
I did my portion of the relay at night. For most of the night they have stadium lights blazing, with everything lit up practically to daylight. I walk right after the Luminaria Ceremony where everybody gathers and lights candles and then takes a lap around the track en masse with candles lit. They turn out the lights for that, and leave them off for a stretch. When they do bring them back up, they come up slowly. It feels a bit like dawn breaking.
Anyhow, I checked in at my team tent and chatted with the people there for a bit. Then I started my walk alone because the friend who I was going to be walking with was running late. Everything was dark except for the Luminaria bags lining the path.
I made it all of 15 feet from the tent when I almost tripped over a body huddled in a ball on the ground. I swerved to avoid it, and as I got along side it I heard wailing. I paused and took a closer look. There was a girl about my daughter’s age, on her knees, curled into a ball (I had mistaken it for a child tying their shoe at first). I knelt down and asked if she was okay, thinking she had perhaps twisted her ankle. The wailing got even more hysterical and she sobbed, “My mother is yelling at me!”
Well shit, not at all what I want to be in the middle of. I look around trying to spot said mother, because really, it would be best if meltdown girl were not left to sob in the middle of a darkened track.
“I miss him so much!” She wails to me. She looks up for just a moment and her eyes are puffy with huge dark circles under them. This is not brand new crying. Her face collapses back toward the ground and she continues to cry. “She doesn’t even care.”
“I’m sure she cares,” I tell her. I have my hand on her shoulder, but am not sure what else to do with her. Touching strange children is not generally well looked upon in this society.
“It doesn’t seem like she cares! She won’t talk about him, she never talks about him! I miss him so much, and she just pretends like nothing has happened.”
My heart is aching with what I am imagining of this family’s life. “Is your mom here?” I am still looking around for somebody who looks connected.
“I don’t know where she is.” sob sob sob
I see this slightly older looking teen wandering toward us, looking around as if she has lost something. She has a cell phone out and her eyes are wet. Her eyes land on our little heap in the middle of the track and she questioningly says a girl’s name. Sobbing girl looks up and explodes out of her ball and into this girl’s arms. They both weep and I overhear “I just want to talk about him, but she always yells at me.” as the older looking one leads her off to the side.
I got up and brushed the dirt from my knees and continued on my lap, eyes leaking.
I had pulled myself together by the time my friend joined me. We walked and talked, as the lights came up. I took some photos. A live band plays covers. Last year I walked to songs from The Beatles, this year to Pink Floyd’s music.
I was able to raise over $1000. Thanks to everyone who was able to help. They won’t have the final total for our relay for a while, as donations are still being turned in. A lot of people won’t donate online. I’ll post the total amount raised when they have those numbers.