Too Much Not Quick Enough

Stephanie posted something the other day about seasonal depression (or at least seasonal depressive qualities), and while I’m not clinically sleep disordered or mood altered or diagnosed as anything else-d at this time of year, man, I totally get it.

I was fully aware that I was moving to an overwhelmingly gray part of the country at the beginning of the overwhelmingly gray part of the year, and aside from a few brilliant bursts of gorgeous, miles-walkable weather, I’ve certainly gotten my gloom’s worth. This isn’t me complaining about Seattle; with my skintone and fondness for wearing pajama pants and reading, I’m an ideal candidate for living here. But we’re farther north than where we lived before, so in addition to the perpetual cloudiness and frequent rain, our dusk starts around 3:30pm and it’s functionally dark by four. Add that to me still not having a regular job to wake up early for, and I’m sleeping late enough that I have a handful of daylight hours to spend, and most of those are too crappy to explore in. While I’m not sad, not really, it’s way too easy for me to curl into a snoozing, eating, lazing ball of myself here, and probably the only upside is that I’m not using up a whole lot of outside world laundry for Graham to do every week.

I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving this week, first because it gets me out of the house, second because it puts me in contact with other human beings, and third because it’d be nice to eat a big communal meal again, which we haven’t done since we first got here and won’t be able to do again for another couple of weeks or so (but when that time comes, Seattle Misfit Family, prepare yourselves for the stuffed peppers of your lives).

All of my grocery shopping is done, too, and it wasn’t the clusterfuck described by most of my Facebook feed. While plenty of people in the St. Louis wait to hit the store until the day before Thanksgiving, a Midwestern sort of industriousness possesses enough people to hit the store every other day that week, as well, making buying anything at a grocery store within 5 days of Thanksgiving a sort of Hell. Judging by the general levels of procrastination and lack of planning I’ve witnessed amongst long-term Seattleites, I decided to buy everything I needed at 10pm on the Tuesday before the holiday and experienced no crowds, no lines, and everything still on the shelves.

Now if only someone would understand how well that thought process translates to the workplace and hire me already. I’m still applying like crazy and went to two interviews so far this week, but a) my non-degree status makes me underqualified to some while my resume makes me overqualified to others, and b) I need to get up in the morning and do stuff instead of sit around the house and accidentally scroll through porn on Tumblr.

Speaking of porn on Tumblr, look, I’m fine with porn and fully respect everyone’s right to enjoy really weird shit as well as their right to post really weird shit even if they’re not into it themselves, but some of this stuff just confuses me. Like, I get why someone would be into a girl fisting herself, but when the girl fisting herself is fisting herself in the ass and she’s wearing a nun outfit and is for some reason required to hold her own bottle of lube in the other hand? That’s just too much going on in one gifset.

I’ll straighten out my life if the rest of the world will straighten out its porn.

Advertisements

About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
This entry was posted in Paychecks Are Important, Seattle, The Internet is My Boyfriend. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Too Much Not Quick Enough

  1. Carmen says:

    Uh-oh..you’re depressed. Take action now. Get into a regular daily walking or running routine, even if it’s just 30-45 minutes, long enough to get those endorphins cranking. Otherwise, you’ll end up sitting around the house all winter in your fat pants drinking cheap wine and seeing people as infrequently as you see sunlight. Don’t go to that dark place.

Comments are closed.