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Archives from 2002-2006

I’m convinced, or maybe desperately hopeful is the right term, that a few days in a row of good weather will burn my bad mood away like morning fog, but holy shit have we ever been shortchanged on anything resembling a spring here in Seattle. We seem to get maybe one day of sunshine every week and a half or so, then kerblam, it’s back to overcast skies and chilly temperatures. I looked up the symptoms for Seasonal Affective Disorder—you know, SAD, as in sad face, call the wahmbulance—and nodded in grim recognition.

Difficulty waking up in the morning? Check. Craving for carbohydrates? If that means “all-encompassing need to cram sugary/starchy foods in my complain-hole 24 hours a day”, then CHECK. Lack of energy? Hang on, let me just swill the last of this Red Bull . . . check. Difficulty concentrating? Wait, huh? Oh I mean check.

Dude! I’m totally SAD. The most privileged of the depressions: “Oh, I’m sad about clouds.” It’s like a Stuff White People Are Sad About disease.

In truth I’m in a tail-chasing mode about a number of things lately, but I swear the sun took my coping skills when it decided to disappear for half of May and all of fucking June. When you live in the Northwest you know you’re in for a long rainy season every year, but the reason we don’t all hurl ourselves from bridges is because eventually it gets NICE again. That’s how it’s supposed to work, anyway.

We had a break in the rain on Friday and while JB was at work and the boys were at school I headed for the woods in hopes of clearing some of the cruft from my brain. I spent three hours hiking around and exploring new trails and I didn’t see another soul while I was out there. It was pretty much exactly what I needed.

Here’s hoping the sun comes back again soon. I’m sick of being SAD. Also, my wardrobe budget can’t afford for me to keep eating these here medicinal cookies.

As long as I have known our friends Keith and Emily, I’ve known their sweet Golden Retriever Gracie. This is a lovely, heartbreaking tribute to a very good dog.

I’m often frustrated with our dog. Sometimes I feel like I’ve given every last bit of my patience to the two-legged occupants of the house and I can’t handle one more needy creature—especially when she adds to my workload:

Gracie’s story reminds me that our dog won’t always be here, though. As much as she can drive me up a wall, I’m going to miss her when she’s gone. She’s been a good dog. I should be more patient.

God knows she has been.

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