Seasonal Affective It’s one of those days when I turn on all the lights. I need them because the gray upsets my digestion, and I find myself staring too long at one thing. This was a problem when I was in middle school, that leering kid would wave his hand in front of my face, while saying, “Are you THERE?” while the others laughed over their plastic trays, their eyes half on me and half on their lumpy mound of potatoes, staring at both with equivalent malice. I wasn’t there, I was firmly entrenched in my own imagination like I am today. Now those sounds are distant as the cars that rev their engines outdoors, impatiently, like they had some place important to go, and not just to the convenience store for cigarettes. It’s one of those days when I turn on all the lights. I need it for my seasonal affective disorder, which a lot of the people in the Pacific Northwest swear they do not have, and in fact became enraged if someone else suggests it. When a person complains that loudly I always think of Shakespeare, and indignant protests and I wonder what the person is hiding. So I wander into the kitchen, make myself a sandwich of hard peanut butter, check underneath the coffee pot and discover that the coils are cold, and the day stretches ahead like a long smear of grease, yet more slippery. There is no place to go except my head. It’s one of those days when I turn on all the lights, and think about psychiatric terms, like “bipolar” and marvel how some people throw the word around like they say “happy”, or “car”, and they are certain they know exactly what it means. I try to imagine how it would to feel to be a sociopath, able to justify whatever you do, standing on balconies while the less fortunate expire on the ground below, even laughing as they die- yet we all seem to do this, because it’s only a degree that separates the killer from the one who is murdered. It’s one of those days when I turn on all the lights, and wait for a sun break so I can take a walk. The breeze twitches slightly, then changes direction, and the clouds hold tight, like a gate of steel. It’s another day, just as mundane as the others and I haven’t yet lost the friends that remain- all the people who keep forgetting to leave. The leaves are bright orange, and nothing stands in front of the doorway, except for the low voice that keeps telling me to keep quiet, and not admit to anything.
Problems the fruit flies swarm around the rotting fruit without bothering to land, as if the experience of eating will be so much better if they first wait several hours. the act of actually landing on the fruit’s surface means they actually must reach a decision and they are not prepared to do that, ever. they are expecting opposition and I’m going to give it to them, but they’re way too small for combat, and that’s why they never descend to earth.
Letting Go I was four when my mother told me that my best friend Alison was moving to Hawaii with her family. She had a sister named Beth and an exotic mom who played bongo drums. They would live on the beach, and swim in the ocean all year round, instead of three months in Lake Michigan, and they had no immediate plans to return to Chicago. My mother explained carefully that Hawaii was a long way from Chicago, and visiting would be impossible, perhaps we could go some day but it wasn’t very likely. I nodded with understanding, and we went to their apartment to say goodbye. My friend Alison was excited to be moving, she hugged me and screamed and jumped up and down. She was a great friend because both of us would always want to play house and we had this routine where she would say, “I want to be the mommy!” and I would say in reply, “But I want to be the mommy!” and then we’d both shriek, “Let’s BOTH be mommies!” and we’d get down to it. After visiting Alison for the last time, I went home and didn’t feel much of anything. The next morning I got up and said, “Let’s go to Alison’s house” and my mom shook her head sadly, and told me that we couldn’t because Alison was too far away. It took me a while to get it, but when I did I got really sick with such a high fever that blood started pouring from my left ear, and the doctor recommended that I be hospitalized. Lacking money for the hospital my mother took me aside and told me that she knew why I was sick, it was because my friend was gone, but getting sick wouldn’t bring her back. This made sense, and eventually I got better, but I’ve never done well with transitions. |