My mood is not great in the best of winters, and this is not the best of winters. This may, in fact, be the worst of winters. I’m not sure. The point is, seasonal depression plus regular depression plus election-related angst (the cherry on top of the depression sundae, if you will) has all settled in for its long winter’s nap in my brain.
Sometimes I’ll say this kind of thing out loud to the wrong people and they will look very concerned and they will say the thing that I hate more than any other thing, which is: “How can I help?”
Oh god, that is the worst thing. Don’t do this. Don’t be this person. I don’t know how you can help. If I could come up with that kind of targeted plan, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Like, maybe you can help by not making me have to come up with suggestions of things for you to do so that you can feel helpful? It’s like when you get guests who show up early for a dinner party and they say, “Give me something to do!” Dude, if I need help I’ll ask for it. Coming up with a chore for you so that you can feel useful is adding to my workload right now. 1) Baste turkey, 2) get rolls in oven, 3) chop crudites, 4) come up with something for Bob to do so he can feel useful. You just added to my list, friend. That’s not helpful. Don’t add to my list.
I’m basically okay, anyway. I’m functional. I’m getting out of my house, and not just for work. I’m eating too much and sleeping too much and snapping at people too much, but I’m making it.
(Jesus, I am out of practice at doing these posts.)