staring up at the sky.

photo by Hannah, because she is amazing

It didn’t matter that I knew it was coming a month ago, it didn’t matter that I knew it was coming last year, when the seasonal depression struck this year I swear I was upright one minute and flat on my back the next.

And all I could think was What the hell? Wasn’t I just fine?

In light of this, the timing of Hyperbole and a Half’s latest post is a rather humorous coincidence (and a welcome bit of understanding).

It’s not about the job or the move or anything else which, all things considered, I’m feeling pretty positive about. But no amount of positive thinking will change the basic fact that when you’re me and it’s winter, this is what happens. We’re like the Capulets and the Montagues, man. When we get together bad stuff happens.

Sleep eludes me yet again tonight, so I’m sitting here at 1am, listening to pretentious indie music, drinking wine, and organizing my external hard drive. That’s just how I roll.

Last week I recorded two vlogs for a forum challenge. I’ve got a third one in the works, but as you may note from these videos, I can be bit of a perfectionist. At least about certain things.

I think Mom really appreciated that it was an audience that finally motivated me to make my bed. Whatever works, right?

Also observe if you will…

1. Reach for a drink in the middle of the night and upend the glass of water all over your bed.

2. Instead of changing the sheets, layer several small towels over the wet spot and decide to just sleep with your head down at the other end of the bed.

3. Wake up a few hours later…

“Where Am I?!”

It all goes sort of downhill from there.

I don’t know where my brain has been, but it seems that we’re already a week into September. Not that I should be entirely surprised: the weather has been turning autumn-ish for a few weeks now, which means freezing cold nights followed by days that are either scorching or overcast. Today it’s the latter. While waking up in a damp bed is never fun, waking up in a damp bed is even less fun on a rainy day.

And before I’d even rolled out of bed, my iPhone cheerfully reminded me that That Time Of The Month would be imminently upon me - yes, I have an app for that – and that was just the frosting on the very soggy cake. I could feel the headache starting to throb behind my bleary little eyeballs. Sometimes you just have to accept that you’re not going to get ahead of the day, no matter what you do.

And if that means a little pick-me-up to get you through your To Do list, so be it.

It’s very Inception-esque.

Anyway…I read the ballad of Green Wilma to Hannah so very many times that I ended up memorizing it, and could recite it extemporaneously should the situation require, such as during long car rides or the dreaded Hair Washing. Instant cure for the crankies: “One morning Wilma woke up green and much to her surprise, she sat up on the bed and croaked, and started eating flies…”

Now when I was a wee nibblet, one of my very favorite stories was The Little Red Hen. It’s an old folk tale of Russian origin, but all I knew was that the eponymous Little Red Hen was independent and self-assured, and I loved her. Much like Green Wilma’s place in my brain, I’m pretty sure that Dad must have memorized the story for all the times he told it to me over and over again.

And every time the Little Red Hen would have her requests for help rebuffed by the various farm animals, I would proudly (and loudly) recite her response: “Then I’ll do it  ALLLLL  BYYYYY  MYYYYY-SELF!

“And she did.”

Now I’m not gonna lie: I don’t always like doing stuff on my own. I’m not a huge risk taker, and I’m not above asking for help from the more experienced. But sometimes a girl has to look at a situation and say, “I can do this”…and then do it.

Case in point: until two weeks ago, I had no idea how to run a dishwasher.

Now this may not seem like a big deal to, I don’t know, most of America. But for all my familiarity with this particular piece of machinery, running a dishwasher was akin to operating the Mars Rover. Only somehow even more intimidating.

This may stem from the fact that we did own a dishwasher when I was much younger and one night, while my parents were out, the babysitter tried to run a load using regular dish soap instead of dish washing detergent and our kitchen was summarily overrun with a layer of soapy foam a foot deep. At the time I thought it was pretty awesome, like something from a movie, and all we needed was a snappy pop tune to play in the background as we laughed riotously and flung flecks of foam at each others’ faces. But I think it left a far deeper imprint on my psyche: dishwashers are intimidating pieces of technology that you will never, ever be able to use.

We got rid of our dishwasher not long after that, so I never had the opportunity to disprove the theory. We wash all of our dishes by hand here at the homestead, and I’ve even gained an appreciation for the zen-like atmosphere that comes from popping in my earbuds and taking the time to wash a sinkful of dishes.

We don’t have a microwave, either. We’re pretty much Amish.

Last October when I stayed with my friend Kayla and her husband in Austin, I made a point to wash all of my dishes by hand, rather than risk possibly destroying their house and half the city due to my ineptitude with their dishwasher.

I’m only partially exaggerating.

But then I found myself housesitting, not only in a house with a dishwasher, but in a house that didn’t appear to own a sponge. Or a dish strainer. Or any other means by which I could wash all of my dishes by hand. And, much like Kevin in Home Alone confronting the monstrous furnace, that was when I looked at the dishwasher and thought…

And so I operated a dishwasher, for the very first time in my life. It did not explode, and their kitchen floor did not get flooded with soap. Amazingly enough, I didn’t even have to Google the directions. It was nowhere near as complicated as I had expected. The dishes got cleaned and I…I was Mistress of the House.

Boo. Yeah.

And if that was the only thing I accomplished that week, I would have been quite proud of myself. But having risen to one such challenge already, it was hard to decline when another presented itself. Especially one that I would have been more than forgiven for not even attempting…because of my lady parts.

I was having my oil changed (a perfect example of an area where I’m content to let the more experienced take charge), and while I was waiting in the auto bay one of the engine service technicians pointed out that my air filter was getting – to use the technical term – “pretty grody”. A dirty air filter can affect gas mileage, and I am nothing if not frugal.

He told me that they didn’t carry the part, but if I went down to auto parts store and got one there, I could come back and they’d install it for me. This is not the first time they’ve fixed up my car pro bono, and while I’m hesitant to assign intent to their actions, I’m pretty sure that they would not have volunteered to install windshield wipers for my brother, or offered to replace the air filter on his car.

The thing is, having just watched the technician pop the air filter in and out of my engine, it was clear that the job was not particularly complicated. So I smiled, and thanked him graciously, but all the while I was thinking: if I can master a dishwasher, I can sure as heck open a box and pop a clean air filter into it.

And I did.

© Indexed

Today I…

- washed dishes

- vacuumed my room

- brewed more kombucha

- made my bed

- put away all of my clean clothes (and, in a more or less directly related way, restored my treadmill to full working order)

- virtually shopped for a new iPhone case

- watched Buffy with my sister

- ate a great deal of barbecued meat

Also…I love this video. Props to Hannah for sharing it.

what I wanted to say: Guuuuurl, you’re talking to someone who has Comic Con on their bucket list. Someone who put The Avenger‘s opening night on her calendar months ago. Someone who went to score discounted books at Border’s and came home with the MARVEL ENCYCLOPEDIA. And you want to know if I thought Captain America was cheesy?

Puh-lease.

The Transformers trilogy is cheesy. Nicholas Sparks’ movies are capital-C-H-eeeeesy. Anything that comes packaged with the words “an ABC family special” is most certainly going to be cheesy. Captain America is a period piece that does justice to the comics and to the character.

what I actually said: “I’m a geek. I thought it was awesome.” (cue sheepish smile)