So, I had quite the scare today.
For a grim four hours I was absolutely certain that my stove was totally dead, beyond revival, which, had this actually been the case (spoiler alert: it all ended well) it would have been absolutely catastrophic to the belated dinner party I am hosting for my mother and ten invited guests on Sunday.
My first thought when it wouldn’t turn on was, “FUCK, I should have appreciated it more when it was working”. Like, if I had worshipped this fucking thing every time I heated up xyz frozen food item, this wouldn’t have happened. I just didn’t love it enough. That is seriously how my brain works after four hours of sleep, two and a half hours of Spanish, and one nap interrupted. When I realized that there was something wrong after messing around with it for ten minutes, all I wanted to do was throw myself in front of the oven and cry WHYYYYYY, WHYYYYY. But I couldn’t, because I had people over, and I have been told you don’t do something like that in front of other people. So I didn’t. But I wanted to. I probably could have, though, it was family, and they have seen a thing or two.
Anyway — to shorten down an uninteresting story, my grandfather fixed it. Someone had played with the circuits in the hallway (I have no idea how that happened) and now everything is working, and there is no problem, which is such a relief. I now know everything there is to know about (MY) circuits and I will make sure no one ever plays with them again.
Today has really sucked, and I think that is the reason why this unforeseen “coulda-been” problem hit me so hard. I am not normally this pathetic… (cough cough cough cough). I felt vulnerable from the second I opened my eyes this morning, and I will go to bed feeling this way, because that is how it is sometimes. I don’t know why it is, or why I went to school with this great sense of grief inside, or why I couldn’t utter one sentence in a language that I have been studying for eight months, or why I felt so terribly alone in a room full of people today. I am hoping it has to do with my inability to fall asleep, and thereby not getting the sleep my brain needs to recharge… in the few hours I do get, I have the craziest dreams. Sometimes nightmares.
But, now it’s vacation and I am hoping my mind will calm down a little bit… and my oven is working, so what do I have to be so upset about?
Today, I am not equipped with armor. I am out there fighting the big battle on my own, thin-skinned and easily bruised. I woke up feeling sad and lost, and now I will go to bed still feeling sad and lost. I guess it is always good with a cosmic reminder of how bad things can be… or was… or something.
Like I could ever forget. Some cosmic energy is pretty stupid.
Anyway. I hope that whatever misreading of signals that might have occurred between my brain and the medication will be all fixed by tomorrow morning. Now I am going to remove my make-up, and then go to bed with a big cup of tea and watch the second half of “Hannah And Her Sisters”.
I have written a couple of posts that were solely about the arrival of Spring, and how fan-fucking-tastic that is, you know, in MY humble opinion. I am sure most people will agree that Spring rocks 4893829 x infinity, unless of course you are allergic to pollen. Then Spring might only rock 48938 x infinity.
I’m a child of the summer, a summer baby. Sun and light is my fuel, and if I were to compare the seasons to weekdays, Spring is my Thursday-Friday, Summer is my Friday-Saturday, Fall is my Sunday (can’t we all agree that Sundays blow?), and Winther is my Sunday night and my Monday. Every Winter day, with it’s darkness and hopelessness is Sunday night/Monday, and it’s like being trapped in a limbo, where you live in entrapment with no way out as Nature’s captive. There is nowhere to go, you are just forced to live in the darkness until it is over.
This Winter was one of the worst Winters in my life. Me feeling horrible started in November, and I was so convinced I wasn’t going to make it. I woke up every morning consumed with sorrow, like I was being punished by waking up. It didn’t help that I had to write the most important paper of my school career. We had two weeks to write it and I think I left my apartment twice in those two weeks, both times to go meet my dad who was pretty much my savior for those two weeks. I had the worst writer’s block I have ever experienced, and I have been writing for a long time. I have always put a lot of thought and effort into my papers and have in return received very good grades, so my teachers had pretty high expectations and talked about this 15-20 page like it would be a complete piece of cake for me.
The subject of our paper was completely in our hands, and I chose to write about The Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger, my favorite book in the whole world. My assignment was to do a complete sociological analysis of the book, with a particular focus on Holden and his personality and characteristics. If I had had to write this paper a year ago, it would have been heaven to me. Really, it would have been the most wonderful thing I could ever be asked to do. I could analyze Holden to my dying day, because he is so my dear to my heart, and I have done it before. This exact thing, I mean. I helped Andrew write a paper about this book a couple of years ago (he hated it) and we got a stellar grade.
I can say with complete honesty that I thought at least once every day for those two weeks that I was going to die. I couldn’t write one word. Not even one single word. I had trouble writing my own name. I had to write my teacher to ask her a question and it took me an hour to write a three-lined message. It was like I had used all of my words last year, where I wrote a bazillion papers and did great. I ended up with the conclusion that I must have had a certain amount of words available inside and that I had used them all on stupid papers that didn’t really matter, not compared to this big one at least. It’s completely irrational, I know, but I was irrational. I thought the paper was going to kill me. Eventually, I wanted it to.
The two weeks went by with a snail speed and I managed to write 17 pages, with the moral support of my father and grandmother, who went out of their way to help me. We had to turn it in the day before the start of our Christmas Vacation, and the day after I left for New York, putting it all behind me. I spent my entire vacation over there and had an amazing time. Not only was it not as dark over there, weather-wise, but it also was not as cold as it was in Denmark. The complete change of environment was gold to me, and after two weeks of sleep deprivation and nightmares I was finally able to SLEEP and SLEEP WELL. I think spooning helped.
Possibly also the anti-depressants that were prescribed to me.
And now Spring is here, and it is beautiful, and I am feeling better. I am not feeling 100% okay, but I am feeling better and I am hopeful.
I guess I am writing this both as an explanation to why there will be many more posts dedicated to the weather and the light and how miraculous it is that all the dead comes to live again every year. The nature AND the people.