Thursday, January 30, 2014

Why Can't I Worry Myself Thin?

I think I'm having a bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder, or a slight case of depression (which I think is a side effect of T-fen, honestly), because I have felt so sad this week. And yes, actual sad stuff has happened, both in the greater world (Pete Seeger! boo-hoo!) and closer to home, but in general I'm fine, everyone here's fine, there's no real reason for all this weepy.

Here's something that hit me last night: Last year, the daughter of one of my Sleek Suburban Mom friends had a bit part in the high school production of Grease, and I organized a party with the local girls and moms to have pizza and ice cream (and, er, a grown-up drink or two) at our house ahead of time, and then we all caravan-ed to the show together. Mimosa and I knew three girls in the cast, and we brought bouquets for all of them. It was a pretty fun night.

Now Mimosa has a good part in a play, and I e-mailed my circle of friends to encourage them to come see her (including the moms of all three girls we gave flowers to). And the response has mostly been — silence.

I don't say this to point fingers at anyone. We all have a lot going on (in fact, one of my bestys is starring in a show at the exact same time, what are the odds? I will get to see her perform the following week), and we do the best we can. And also, my Grease party wasn't a quid pro quo kinda thing — I did it because I wanted to and because I hoped it would help my shy daughter have some peer fun and feel more part of things.

Nonetheless . . . I don't think any of the local girls are coming to see her, and yes, I am disappointed.

I was also feeling bad because the kids, Husband, and I haven't written a single thank-you note yet for our Christmas presents (it is so hard to find a time when all four of us are home these days!). We usually do this as a family event, sitting at the dining room table together; my rule is that the note has to be at least four sentences and only one of them can be "thank you" — people want to hear about your lives, I always say. So we read aloud our notes as we write them, and it's pretty hilarious. (Good Neighbor Anne showed me a note Li'l Martini wrote her a few years ago: "Thank you for the soap with the turtle in it. I wanted to use it right away, but Mom says I have to wait until we use up the soap that's in the bathroom right now. I wish I could play with that turtle. I think Mom is mean. Great present. Love, Li' Martini")

But then it occurred to me: I called every family member on Christmas Day to thank them for their gifts and tell them I love them. Brother 1's family hadn't opened our presents yet . . . and I haven't heard a word from any of them since. I'm especially disappointed because I made Flinty Red, my sister-in-law's, present this year with my own two hands, and I really wanted to hear how she liked it — I thought it turned out awesome. But nary a word.

We're still going to write thank-you notes (the view is great, up here on the High Road), probably next weekend, but I'm going to stop feeling bad about it.

This week also marks the first year in something like decades that I haven't written a long birthday letter or e-mail to Bride Boy, who turned, I think, 44 on Tuesday. (I am really, really bad at remembering how old people are, but I'm pretty good about remembering birthdays.) I'm still feeling that loss, and I'm sure it's the source of some of my sadness this week.

But I finally have my car back (ugh, almost a thousand bucks later), and Husband got Li'l Martini's dead computer to work again (so we don't have to buy him a new one – yay, hundreds of bucks saved), and — oh, guess who's back? Auntie Flo returned to my life, albeit a month late, and that's been all kinds of interesting. Hmm, and also probably a source of my baby-blue mood. I still don't feel quite myself, physically, but I'm trying to be patient and just get through this adjustment period. I see my cancer advice doc this month, maybe she'll give me a pep talk.

The hidden agenda of this long tale of woe (and there's so much more, but I get weary of writing about it all) is to bolster my case for skipping Tuesday zumba this week, but I know I'm being ridiculous. It's too cold and I'm too tired and sad, for sure, but exercise would help with all those things. Anyway, I'll go tonight. I'm enjoying the Thursday class a lot because it's nearby (right at the bottom of my hill, in my old church) and there's a clock in the classroom; it's amazing what a difference that makes. There's a clock in the Tuesday gym too, but it's permanently stuck at 7:30; it's like a cruel joke. I love knowing exactly how close I am to being done.

I've had a ton of paying work these past two weeks (which is awesome) but today I'm free, so I've scheduled 10 million errands – and it will be great to get them all off my plate. Top of the list: car inspection — and how great to have a car to actually inspect!! Eleven days without a car. Man.

(One of my errands is not sneaking in a matinee of 12 Years a Slave. I'm scared to try to see that movie now. Maybe I should have someone else drive me.)

Off to seize the day and conquer my demons! Wish me well.

— Lady C, whose mood is blue to match her eyes


  1. Mr. Lady Chardonay (aka Husband, aka Heterolifemate)January 30, 2014 at 10:07 AM

    Well, at least that closet door is fixed... if you don't look at it too closely....

    I'm so sorry you are sad, my poor blue honey!


    1. You are an awesome and wonderful man who knows how to fix a closet door! And I love that when I'm sad and blue, you are so kind to me -- you don't try to fix me like a closet door. You are my sweetest sweetie. xxx

  2. sweetness, if i were close enough i would come to see the play. i would stand and clap and throw flowers. people can be pissers but we must forgive them because they know not that they are pissers.

    i would also come and watch you write the thank you cards. i would offer up some very scandalous remarks and you would have to ply me with munchies to get to shut up.

    i wanted to start to swim this week but just as i made that decision an arctic low blew into my neighbourhood and the temperature dropped to -20. i feel sooo thick and slow.

    i wish you great success in demon conquering and errand running xx

    1. Thick and slow, God yes, that is exactly how I feel. And I was just about to write something indignant about my fine and healthy habits . . . and then it occurred to me that breakfast comprised two pieces of pie. (Apples! Oatmeal! Whole-wheat flour in the crust! And yet...) What I would give to have you here, tossing flowers and offering scandalous remarks! And how I would adore to show you the hooker earrings one sis-in-law gave me. I would be the most fabulous of all the hookers, sporting these babies, I assure you. xxx

  3. I finished the second of your lovely book duo last weekend and it occurred to me that I probably did not say thanks for the lovely package or adorable card. I am hoping the "old friend" title is right up there with "beloved husband" and invokes the faith clause: you know you are appreciated and loved so it is fine to not have to say the words but to let it be. Speaking of saying the words, one squeak of a yes and you will be transported away to a sunny exclusive beach where laughing women with airy clothes and drinks in hand await. Plane leaves this Friday.

    1. You definitely thanked me, my honey - no worries! Did you like the books? I read the Tan one long ago but the King was more recent and I still find myself thinking about it. And yes, yes, old friend, I am totes secure in your eternal love for me, and I hope the same goes for you. We've stayed together through decades and across an entire continent. We are in this for the long haul, my Z-bird. Have so much fun with your hot naked beachy friends! Hoist a glass for me. xxx