The time change means it's light out for a while after I get home. It makes it feel a lot more like I can actually do things after dark. For a while now I've mentally just shut down when I got in the door after work, like a bird with a blanket over its cage. Maybe this will help. I wonder if there are stats on seasonal depression and daylight savings?
It's a barbaric practice and we should stop it.
I made it through another week. I'm really more surviving than anything else. It's not that i'm not happy-- that's not the thing, I can't explain that to people who don't have depression. I'm perfectly happy, I'm just barely functioning. I went to a party on Friday and felt like an alien pretending to be a normal person, trying to bluff my way through normal social interaction. I was definitely one of the weirder people in the room which, given that crowd, was quite an accomplishment. I begged off attending a baby shower I'd been looking forward to because, well, I did have quite a bad cold, but I also just couldn't face trying to socialize with people who know me well and might notice that I'm crazy.
I keep having minor issues with forgetting to believe in the real world, which at least doesn't happen at important times, but is really disheartening. Like, I'm so withdrawn I don't even know if it's real. That sucks.
But! I did manage to be productive this weekend. I have the accumulated hoarding of about eight years in this house, which has gotten really out of control-- I don't open my dresser drawers, and discovered on Sunday that I have a whole drawer full of long-sleeved shirts that fit me and are work-appropriate. And yet I'm wearing the same two over and over because they're the ones I know about, because they're in the piles I wash and dress myself from and wash and dump back into the piles on the floor.
So anyway. Periodically over the years I've culled garments that don't fit or are ugly or stained or way out of fashion or I don't know why I have them, and have put them into bags and put them into the attic or basement. Over the winter there was some flooding in the basement and a lot of these got wet with gross water. Faced with the choice of throwing them out or washing them, I of course washed them. But now I feel like I can't just put them back where they were. I have to either make something out of them, donate them, or throw them away.
Well, at this point, none of them are really nice enough to donate anymore. So... the latter two.
I spent the weekend cutting things apart and sewing them to other things. It went pretty well, I had some awesome ideas, and it turns out I'm pretty good at sewing, after all these years of messing with it. I made a pair of pants that fit me when I was only slightly fat into a pair of pants that fit me now that I'm pretty seriously fat, and I took a too-short sweater and made it into a really cute sweater dress using some fabric I bought literally six years ago that I never made into the thing I planned to make. I was in the midst of taking a jeans skirt someone gave me that I never like and am too fat for and making it into a really cool sort of mermaidy skirt that fits me as I am now, using some stretch shimmer denim I literally bought in college (my budget for these projects is zero because I have too much fucking stuff I swear to God) when suddenly my good sewing machine started clunking and tangling.
I took it apart, took the throat plate off, pulled out the bobbin casing thing, checked it all, cleaned it all, put it back together. Nope. Y'know how the mechanism pulls the thread around the whole bobbin assembly in a big circle? (Well, I do, since the casing on mine is clear plastic in that spot.) Somehow, for some reason, it does this and doesn't quite have the clearance to get all the way around. So it sticks, and tangles, and won't advance.
No matter what I do, I can't get it to work again.
I have two other sewing machines, but one is from the 60s and the other is from the 40s. Neither can do the easy computerized fancy stitches I've gotten so used to, and neither has the convenience features that make my Singer so easy to use-- no needle threader, no thread cutter, no auto-up needle position (you just stop sewing and it returns the needle to a resting position)-- and more importantly, they both only really do straight stitch. Which is fine to finish this jeans skirt, but means I really can't sew knits.
I have to get the machine repaired. But I can barely even get myself out the door, I know for a goddamn fact there is literally no way I'm going to get this thing to a repair shop.
I need an assistant or something.
So that's that. In other activities, I'm still outputting writing at a tremendous pace, so that's something. It's only fic, which is too bad, but it's (I think) rather good fic, so there's that too.
DST is killing my kids! They used to wake up fine on their own; now we have to wake them up, which is terrible and also takes forever. They're getting the same number of hours of sleep; it's just their bodies aren't used to waking up this early.
If I lived closer I would come get your machine and take it to a repair shop. I'm so sorry you're feeling so miserable.
But I don't think you're insane! Look, this happens to you every year. Maybe it's seasonal depression due to the lack of light, maybe it's regular ordinary depression, maybe it's something else. But a hallmark of depression is feeling like you're alone in a sea of people, the only one who doesn't get the "right" social cues or whatever. Really we're all like that, but when we're not depressed/self-conscious/utterly miserable, it doesn't bother us so much.
I think you're wonderful and I love seeing you, even though it's all too rare! And although you feel like you can't get anything done, you sent me and Sandy all those beautiful pictures you took at the wedding! And here I am, so busy with kids and broken fingers, that I haven't even thanked you yet. We were surprised and absolutely delighted by your gift. Thank you so much! And thank you for the CD too -- that will make it much easier to send copies to my mom, who wants every picture ever taken by anyone that day.