The rain and wind and freezing cold don't fool me; I know it's summer.
I know this because I have descended into my annual Summer Mood; a swirling purée of Melancholy Despair spiced up with a dash of Irrational Rage and peppered with Instances of Possibly Unwarranted Self-Loathing.
This year the Summer Mood has also been slathered with a thick coating of Anxiety, such that the other day I caught myself worrying that I've inherited my mum's habit of worrying endlessly about the most pointless things.
Traditionally at this time of year I quit jobs, end relationships, move abroad, sustain injuries and fret that I am the worst person on earth.
Maybe this year I'll just rearrange my books into colour order.
About Bach and Keats
1 day ago
42 comments:
How much exercise are you getting? What are you eating? How much sleep are you getting? are you working too hard?
just think about it! Sounds like it's time for a holiday, P.
I don't think it's anything to do with any of that, Sylvia - it's more like a kind of reverse SAD. I've had it every summer since I can remember, regardless of diet, exercise, sleep and work. Usually it's the sunshine that sets it off - I don't like sunshine.
Heh, books in colour order...?
Is that like a reversed version of SAD? But why do you go all funny in the summer time? Maybe its all just coincidence...? Break the trend, maybe..? Do something different...Think of flying pink elephants in tutus (unless you're one of the significant minority whose lives were forever scared by Dumbo and then, please, forget I said anything).
Be happy, your blog rocks ;)
Do you have a birthday coming up? I do at the weekend, and it's been self-loathing-a-go-go over at Woo Towers. Particularly as I've been reading Jack Rosenthal's autobiography and weeping over the fact that I'll never have a bloke like that....d'oh!
Chin up. Have a Galaxy Ripple.
Oh stop moaning.
James! You're kidding but you should still be slapped. If a gal can't moan on her blog, where can she moan? Plus, I know what she means about the sun. That's why I set some of my noir fiction in Mexico in summertime.
Next year perhaps you should spend your summer in Australia, Patroclus.. or even better, New Zealand, amid swirling fogs and lush grass. Plus, crazy people! (I know this because about five of my friends have moved there, and they are mostly certifiable.) It doesn't get better than that. Well, maybe it does, but no one has sent me the ticket.
You have to be quite firm with these modern young women, it's the only language they understand.
Em: That's very kind of you to say so, thank you. I intend to do something different this year by staying in one place and rearranging my bookshelves, and see how it goes.
Clair: I sort of know who Jack Rosenthal is, but in my mind I get him mixed up with Jim Rosenthal the sports commentator, and for a minute I wondered if it was the Fred Perry shorts that you found so attractive. Happy birthday for this weekend, and don't get too despondent. Have Galaxy Ripples on standby for emergencies.
James: Shh, I'm busy.
Valerie: Oo, you should definitely have Calexico's Feast of Wire and Hot Rail albums as the soundtrack to your writing. Plenty of exquisite Mexican-themed misery there.
come and help me stress about some dramatic life changes we might be making chez Smat - it'll take your mind off the summer...
Smat: Ooh, I shall do just that!
What about trying non-summery activities, such as knitting, Christmas shopping, stuffing newspaper into the gaps of your windows (unless you are particularly blessed and have good windows)?
Would your body be fooled?
I am pleased to report that I am no longer in the least bit moody, and that the earlier grumpiness was dispelled by the writing of a furious letter to the customer services department of the EDF in Nimes, which not only gave me an opportunity to be VERY ANGRY in French, but also presented a number of splendid opportunities for the indulgent use of the subjunctive, erm, mood.
There's nothing like a nice bit of afin que je puisse to lighten my spirits.
Phew.
Don't quit. If you go, they'll probably give me an even eviler* boss. Or even worse, start asking awkward questions about what I actually do...
*I are copywriter.
I hate the summer also.
There's nothing writing an angry letter to make you feel better.
I wrote a very angry, yet frostily polite letter to a school I had an interview at a few weeks ago who messed me around.
It was enjoyable both to write and send and cheered me up immensely. I have also been cheered by our wintery weather! I also dislike summer..
Ooh, I'm going to start an 'I hate the summer' group on Facebook.
No, wait, I hate Facebook.
Ooh! I'm going to start an 'I hate Facebook' group on Facebook.
I'm so meta.
Ooh! I'm going to start an 'I'm so meta' group on Facebook!
*carries on in this vein for several long, tedious hours*
ooh that subjunctive makes me go all tingly! weird, i concede, mais que veux-tu que je fasse?
glad you're feeling a bit better. maybe this is the very therapy you need.
i'm far stroppier in french than i am in english. it's like having a split personality without the need for medication (unless you really really want it)
Glad that writing to EDF has lifted your spirits.
Summer is not my favourite time, to be honest, due to long holiday with parents and children on the planet naboo. The mere thought of it is sending me downwards, I can tell you. Last year was just terrible. So this year, under cover of GCSE results, we're coming home 3 weeks early.
And for some strange reason I miss my husband more and more each year when I go away. He thinks it's very strange too.
But this is your blog, not mine.
The suggestions above are very sensible! Wish I was sensible...
Looking up "I Hate Facebook" on Facebook reveals that there is, in fact, an I Hate Facebook group. Also, intriguingly, I Hate Pants (only 3 members), Damn. I hate everything., and I Hate One of My Roomates/Suitemates and they Shall Die In their Sleep.
BTW my brother was actually diagnosed with "reverse SAD" so I think it's known to exist, at least by clinicians.
Rivergirlie: you're right, speaking another language does bring out different character traits, doesn't it? I'm sure the Italian-speaking me (not that I've spoken Italian for years) is much more grown up and sophisticated than the English-speaking me. The French-speaking me is just a bit random; sometimes quite fluent and Gallic, and at other times barely able to string two words together. There's something very special about the subjunctive, though, isn't there? Especially the imperfect subjunctive: afin que je fusse is pretty good.
Sylvia: I'm heartened to learn that you miss your husband when you're on holiday - from your past comments I'd got the impression that the husband was almost surplus to requirements. Glad to know it's not so!
Valerie: Rats, I looked it up too on Facebook and couldn't see one. Is there also an 'I love pants' group? If so, I'm in - and I'll be leading the charge against the 'I hate pants' contingent, wearing distressed leather trousers, a billowing white shirt and some fetching toile de Jouy knickers, just like Orlando Bloom in Kingdom of Heaven.
I'm starting an 'I love pants' group on Facebook. Just because I can.
But is that hating and/or loving pants as in trews, or pants as in undercrackers?
But do you love pants in the sunshine?
[Adds to list of possible future Eurovision entries]
Incidentally and fantastically, the word verification staring back on me on this page at the moment is 'idiot'. No joke.
cello: I'm in!
Tim: As far as I'm concerned, pants will always be undercrackers, and don't let any of our former colonial brethren fool you into thinking otherwise.
chuffy!: You get all the best word verifications. I love pants irrespective of the presence of sunshine, which is probably less of a Eurovision entry and more of a discarded Tom Lehrer B-side.
Oooh... Lehrer...
In the math department of Harvard we used to have an amiable professor who graded his algebra seniors according to the skimpiness of their undergarments. In his honour, I've written a short and pleasantly worthless number entitled 'The Sex Pest Foxtrot'. If you feel the urge to sing along, there are several burly men in the aisles, trained in aversion therapy.
"I made a little blunder there
When I said I liked your underwear.
Now I spend my time repentin'
In the showers of San Quentin..."
Ahh, Tom Lehrer is great.
Despite looking very hard, I failed to spot you whilst I was in Cornwall (there was no-one wearing your clothing style at the Eden Project when I visited it).
I did share a cream tea with someone who knows James though, so I was slightly close.
Careful there Dave - I think that means James could get pregnant.
I looked out for you too, but I didn't see you anywhere around Falmouth, Mabe, Trelissick (not Treliske) or Truro. Sounds like you had a nice time, though, despite the weather - so that's good.
you'll feel a lot better after a nice slice of cake
Ah, the summer (as I type this actual hailstones are hammering against my actual window. Actually) Yes, summer with all its various problems: Hair - remove or keep'n'cover-up. Sweating. Clothes: Would be quite happy clad head-to-toe but can't be because of sweat problems so have to uncover SOME bits which, in turn, means I have to address hair removal. As I suffer from ordinary SAD, I'm pretty much miserable and filled with self-loathing all year round.
P.S My daughter would be in a "I Love Pants" Facebook group. She could be the Crown Princess of pants with you and cello as joint Queens.
You could simply file your socks alpabetically by colour.
Are you getting enough vitamins? Diet imbalance can cause depression. So can poor sleep, so make sure you have really good curtains and get a full night's sleep. Most people don't realise they are sleeping poorly at this time of year due to light seeping into bedroom.
Is all the pomp and ceremony of today's changes giving you a pre-chocolate-and-cheese-cake boost? I'm finding it very helpful afin que je puisse éviter doing any bloody work whatsoever.
Marsha, can I just correct you there. I might well have been inspired by Patroclus re the 'I Love Pants' group but the fact is I GOT THERE FIRST.
So, there's no joint anything going on here. I am the Queen; P is my supernumerary. I am sure your delightful daughter would do a fine job as a vassal or something.
Pants fight!
Before the whole thing turns into an annus horribilis for the Royal Family of Undergarments, I vote that cello does indeed reign supreme as Queen of Pants, I'll be some sort of lady in waiting, and Klein Junior can be Princess Tam-Tam.
Was this the pomp and ceremony you were referring to, BiB?
It was, it was. Puis-je be the ambassador of the Queendom of Pant to the Federal Republic of Chermany? You need to defend your interests abroad, after all.
As I went to see Tom Jones at Hampton Court recently, Could I please be events editor at large (XXL actually?)
BiB, absolutely, I think you and Bowleserised should be joint ambassadors to Germany, since it was she - or at least, her blog - who once alerted me to the existence of Damaris (warning: scantily clad women), the most expensive and awe-inspiring lingerie house known to man.
(If anyone knows of a more expensive and awe-inspiring lingerie house, speak now or forever hold your peace)
Sylvia: Please do feel free to report any underwear-related events you may happen to come across. As long as they're - y'know - *classy*.
phenomenally expensive underwear
Best wishes,
Fancy Pant correspondent
Oohoo, chuffy!, well found, there is some exceptionally nice stuff there. Nul points to Guia la Bruna for their sizing policy, though. Nothing larger than a B cup? That's just wrong and upsetting and cruel. And since when was bikini sizing of S, M, L and XL in any way helpful to anyone? Tsk.
Incidentally, chuffy!, are you feeling like launching your blog to the wide world yet? I'm very much looking forward to reading it.
I'll have to start writing it first, patro. Still in gestation (ie. fiddling around with front-page templates).
And I'm taking lots of photos of doors...
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