The story of my life right now: the doctor switched my prescription to a generic after a short break and every day has been consumed with afternoon nausea. I mention this because it has made me an irritable on top of the funk I'm already experiencing. Sunday afternoon I stepped out of my apartment and into the cold, and I asked myself, "am I getting depressed again or is it the medicine?" (If you've known me a long time you know that depression for me is like a far away gathering storm, in the times that I'm diagnosed I always will have seen it coming for months in advance.)
On Sunday I had plans for brunch with a group of friends. New York brunches are often marathons, starting in early afternoon and ending at dinner. I felt a little like the sour-sport who ran out of steam too soon. I was giddy and excited in the first half, but by five o'clock I felt like the frustrated version of myself. Even the jokes were going over my head. That evening I went to visit the boyfriend at his apartment in Brooklyn. After a discussion about Roald Dahl, I convinced him to watch "The Witches." He hadn't seen it! My dad, sister and I spent so many hours watching the film together. Our favorite line "I never liked cock-a-leek-e soup!" and the scene where the chef get a mouse in his pants? Ollie never saw me laugh so hard, even though I saw it one trillion times.
Then what followed was a typical workweek with a minor interruption. Monday I was terribly impatient with myself. Tuesday, even more still. Wednesday, mother nature gave me the break I needed: a snow day.
For me, snow is still a new thing. I can't talk about it with the familiarity that I talk about hurricanes or warm weather. I've written and said it a hundred times, snow only comes to Mobile, Alabama (my hometown) once every four years. Until I've lived in this climate longer than I lived in the south, it will always be magical. I spent the day wandering from room to room watching television and cooking chicken thighs in mustard sauce.
Thursday came and passed without much incident. To cure the blues, I treated myself to a manicure at my favorite nail salon, Tenoverten.
Friday afternoon my boyfriend decided to meet for a drink. I had been feeling lightheaded at work, but I pulled myself together and met him at Fraunces Tavern. I could only stomach a ginger beer and a cheese plate. We outlined the weekend plans: one dinner party at his, a little relaxing, and my super coming by to fix the ceiling. Yet again, in a sort of overwhelming stress and tiredness and malaise, I wanted to do neither of those things besides sleep.