Did you remember to set your clocks back an hour last night? No? Did you have anywhere you needed to be this morning? I’m sure your early arrival was greatly appreciated by all involved, especially if you were responsible for getting small creatures up and dressed and out of the house.
Me? Nope, didn’t remember. Rather, didn’t bother. Nowhere to be today, so why? Crawled out of bed at 9:15…er, 8:15…and began the day. It’s now 6:00 and I feel like I’ve been up for a week. Not tired, just a strangeness around the passage of time. I don’t wear a watch; I rely on my iPhone, but mainly I have a fantastic sense of time. Amazes Tom. He’ll wonder aloud about the time, and I’m almost always correct within five minutes. So messing with the clock throws me off for a few days.
I am not a fan of the falling back portion of Daylight Savings. At least it’s a few weeks later than it used to be. I am a solar-powered individual, and losing daylight does not do me well. I have a mild-ish case of Seasonal Affective Disorder, and the lack of sun is hard. The year we lived in Iowa and I didn’t see the sun the entire month of February still ranks as the Numero Uno Worst Month of My Life. That was also the second time I had mono. It’s not like I live outside during the summer, but the sun fills my soul to overflowing, something that does not happen in the winter. I can manage until mid-January, and then it’s just a slog until late spring.
This year has me worried. I am deeply stressed about several things I am actively not mentioning here, at least not now. Shorter daylight hours will only make it more difficult to cope. In fact, as the sun was dropping this afternoon, I could feel my anxiety climb, and I couldn’t figure out why. Finally occurred to me that I was panicking over the beginning of shorter days and increased worries. And then, as the sun made its final drop, I ripped hell out of my flannel bedsheets as I put them back on the bed. I’m trying to decide if that was fate telling me anything other than YOU NEED NEW SHEETS, NINCOMPOOP! Probably not.
Last winter was hard. Really hard. And I’m starting to see flashes of that trying to return. And I’m scared. I can’t, I won’t, live like that again. The stress level in the House of Chaos last winter/early spring was so far past the Red Zone that it was zipping past Ultraviolet Zone and heading into NASA Called And Wants To Talk About Your New Discovery Zone. Tom and I are both dedicated to that not happening again, because we probably wouldn’t survive the winter still married. Not something either one of us wants, not by a long shot. Today I came across a bunch of old cards he has given me, complete with the love notes inside, and fell in love with him again. Not about to give that up. Plus I wouldn’t make it as a single mom. I’d be rocking in the corner talking to dust bunnies with a week.
Before anyone asks, yes, I’m on antidepressants. Two, actually. And I do have a therapist I adore. And I do have sunlight lights in my house. And we live in an area that gets 300+ days of sunshine a year. It’s just that, right now, I have so many things going on that are out of my control that I have a hard time not losing my everlovin’ mind. Wouldn’t you?
In the meantime, however, I have hopes and dreams and all of you to get me through to spring.
And a metric crapton of wine.