SELF DIAGNOSIS

So, I just diagnosed myself. Yep, who needs a masters in therapy, clinical hours, and experience? Bitch I know stuff.

After careful examination I’ve come to the delightful realization that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, also known as SAD. Isn’t that the LAMEST acronym you ever heard?

“How you feeling today Bob?”

“Oh, not so good. I’m pretty sure I’m coming down with SAD again.”

Could this ‘disorder’ sound any more pansy?

But seriously. After going through a week of dreary weather, and a week of hiding under the covers and getting NO sleep because my mind kept waking me up to thoughts of ‘INTRUDER!’, I was more than pleased to realize Saturday morning that the tides had finally turned. The sun was back, and suddenly I was a new woman.

I mean, I grew up in a world where roses bloom year round, where tanning in January is normal and can actually be done out in nature instead of a tanning bed, and a world where threat of rain will actually send people to the store to stock up on food, groceries and toilet paper. Because God forbid their hair frizzes from all the sudden moisture.

I thought I knew all there was to know about sunshine after this California upbringing. I thought it was no big deal and frankly a little overrated. And then I moved to Washington. Suddenly I live in a world where a gorgeous day like this Saturday, after so many weeks of rain feels like having crack injected, snorted, and inhaled into my system ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

A sunny day makes me feel like I am mother fucking super woman. I can plant a garden, hike up a mountain, solve world hunger, repair Brangelina’s relationship, grow rock candy, repaint the house, bake 20 hideous cakes, run a marathon, TWICE, train a monkey, reorganize the house, dig a well, volunteer at a soup kitchen, teach Oly how to mix me a cocktail, and build an addition to our house out of sticks and rocks collected in my front yard all after I end the war in Iraq, single-handedly.

There is no task too difficult, and even scooping up wet mushy three week old dog crap in my backyard feels like a fucking stroll through Disneyland because look, THE SUN IS OUT!

After a day of vitamin D I lay in bed, reviewing the trail of greatness I’ve left in my wake and suddenly I feel like my world has been turned right side up again. Those feelings of worthlessness, low self esteem, or despair appear to have happened AGES ago! Silly silly girl.

Holocaust and then bemoan the pain of humanity for the rest of the day. I paint my fingernails black. I realize Brangelia are going to be ok after all, which seems great (obviously my counseling from Saturday worked), until I realize now Brad and I might never be able to be together. Damn big lipped bitch and all her children. Before I know it I feel the urge to write angry tirades in my diary about the evils of the world and I find myself having two too many glasses of wine and passing out without showering. Again.

And if on Monday I wake to a beautiful sunny day, suddenly I’m fucking Martha Stewart, Richard Simmons and the Dalai Lama, all wrapped up at once. When I sit down for my morning pee unicorns and sparkles will flow from my va-jay-jay and I wont be able to help but sing, Damn it feels good to be a gangster,” all day long. Because well my friends, it does.

BASICALLY I’ve come to realize that the sun is fucking with me.

  • marti

    I think you’re on to something, teaching Oly to mix cocktails!She’ll qualify as a service animal. You’ll have a cottage industry. She’ll need special tools,what with no thumbs and all. Plus you’ll be on Letterman probably the same night as Brad and he’ll fall in love with you, especially when he finds out you can build houses out of rocks and sticks and grow rock candy. You’ll move to the sunny south of France and live on his compound. Who knew, all this from rainy weather.

  • http://riogringa.com Rachel

    Winter sucks tons. I also go nuts when the sun comes out, but it’s been so cold that the few times it comes out I am too chicken to spend much time outside. Stupid winter.

    In other news, Brad Pitt looked like a homeless man at the Haiti fundraiser last week, so don’t feel too sad about him. :)

  • http://profile.typepad.com/accidentalolympian Ashley, The Accidental Olympian

    RACHEL — Shhhh stop saying mean things about my Brad!

    But you are right, he totally did look like a frightening homeless man. Frighteningly HOT.

    Sorry, he looks good homeless, in drag, as a unicorn, I could care less. Sprinkle some chocolate sauce on his abs and I will still lick them.

    Twice. 

  • http://profile.typepad.com/accidentalolympian Ashley, The Accidental Olympian

    MARTI — I like how you think woman. South of France, HERE I COME!