It's raining here in Dallas.
Like a whole lot of rain.
Because I'm cold and I'm pretty sure I also have SAD.
Which is, in clinical terms, Seasonal Affective Disorder.
And just because the head shrinkers give it a special name that's all acronymishly cute doesn't make you any less SAD.
In case you don't already know, SAD is what happens in the winter when it's cold and rainy and you can't go outside to get sunshine so your mood gets all depressed and unmotivated and lazy and you visit the fridge and pantry all day foraging for food because everyone knows the best way to cure boredom and depression is to simply eat your way through it.
Except there's no food in the house because I'm too 'affected with seasonal disorder' to get out of my pajamas and my husband's robe, which I grabbed instead of my own because mine was about 10 feet away and that was simply too far to trudge for a robe, and actually put some makeup on over the makeup I didn't take off last night after I was too unmotivated and cold to wash my face because the water takes like 20 minutes to heat up.
|last night's eye makeup|
And my sink has a clog so running the water that long means that by the time the water is hot enough to actually splash my face with it, the sink is nearing overflow levels so I have to turn it off and wait for the water to slowly drain out while hoping that by the time it does and I can turn the water back on, it will still be warm enough to wash my face.
|stupid clogged sink|
So while the water is slowly draining, I start thinking about where all that water goes and my thoughts drift to sewer rats and I wonder where they go when the sewers fill up with so much rain and I start to worry that maybe one of them will seek refuge in my house through our dog door and in the middle of the night I'll hear the little tippity tap tapping of those rat claws on my wood floors but when I go to investigate and turn on the light the rat will scurry off somewhere.
|dog door/rat entrance|
Then I'll turn off the lights and he'll come out again looking for cheese. Or onions. Because that's all that's left in the pantry, but I'll hear that tippity tap sound on the floors and I won't be able to go to bed until he's gone. Then I remember my Grandpa, the great rat hunter, and realize that the only logical way to rid my house of the rat is to do what he did and wax a giant circle in the middle of the wood floors, set a piece of cheese right in the center, turn off the lights and wait patiently for the tippity tap of those little rat toes as they creep towards the cheese.
And as soon as I hear the familiar tippity tap, I will flip on the lights and as the startled rat tries to grasp the slippery floor, and his little rat legs move furiously underneath him, I will take aim through the tiny beadset of the 'new-edition-of-the-vintage-model-still-in-the-original-box' Daisy BB gun, that I somehow inherited from my dad and has sniped countless aluminum cans with pure precision, but then I think to myself at the last minute, I just waxed these floors, and I decide I really don't want dead rat guts all over them.
|"You'll shoot yer eye out, kid!"|
So I'll grab a broom instead and swat him back out the dog door and hopefully back out into the sewer from which he came. Then I'll probably be hungry from all that work so I'll head to the kitchen to get a snack only to find nothing but onions since I used my last piece of remaining cheese to get the rat.
Which makes me realize that I'll probably have to go to the store to get some food the following day or the kids could be taking onion sandwiches topped with onions to school for lunch the rest of the week. So I'll make my way to the bathroom to wash my face but I'll remember how long it takes for the water to heat up and how the sink fills up and the sewer rats so I'll just wash my face with cold water or skip it altogether and just go to bed with makeup still on because I really hate being cold.
And onion sandwiches.
À la vie et à l'amour