Solstice

Today is the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. In Seattle we celebrate the solstice by watching a parade of naked men riding bicycles. You think I jest. I do not, although the parade organizers conveniently left that fact out of the event description. I intend to celebrate by picking up some Chinese take-out after work, defrosting some cupcakes in my freezer (don't ask) and dusting off the Firefly DVD that's been hanging out on top of the television for months because gimpy Lee is coming over and we're going to finish the season. And then maybe I'll do some weeding and planting because the sun is not going to set until ten past nine tonight. It's going to be sunny and warm and sublime.

Today also marks the beginning of the season of dreading November. November is not a good month for me. I love Thanksgiving, I love the kickoff to the winter holidays, I love breaking out the wool work pants and the heavy coats and I really love turtleneck sweaters. But November is when things get really dark. You can totally make it through September and even find a way to survive through October, but once November hits, you're in the dark. You wake up in the dark, you sit in an office all day during the light hours, and you leave in the dark, get home in the dark, watch TV in the dark. And then you do it all over again. Even early December is hopeful, because you know the winter solstice is coming up, and the days will start getting longer and longer. No, November is the worst and for the past couple of years, November has done an ugly number on me.

It's not really the weather. I find myself more annoyed by Seattle's weather as I get older, the rain and gloom and general blahness. I don't enjoy the weeks and weeks of rain. But the kicker is the dark. I can't stand the dark and, unfortunately, there is nowhere in the world I can go to escape that.

I'm a morning person, for one thing. I love the light streaming through my bedroom window at seven in the morning. I love getting up and opening all the shades and sitting in front of the living room window with my breakfast and a good book while Phillip is upstairs sound asleep. And when it's light enough to stay out late and not feel like you're going to be exhausted the next day, that's the best. At 9 p.m. in November, I'm drinking wine and watching TV, preparing myself to fall asleep. At 9 p.m. in June I'm at a friend's barbecue and going for walks and baking cookies and playing DDR in my living room.

The dark reminds me that soon I will have to go to bed. And for so long I've had such a struggle going to bed. My second experience with the Anxious Anvil of Anxiety Disorder Doom squished me flat in November of 2004. It took me until, oh, Spring of 2005 to feel like I could even try to fall asleep without the aid of Benadryl or a glass of Australian shiraz. I amazed myself this past winter, when anxiety returned only for a few days at a time, never enough to make me think it was zooming back into my life, never enough to really scare me. I haven't opened that Costco-sized bottle of Benadryl in a really long time.

But that doesn't mean I don't wonder when I will.

For now- HURRAY FOR SUMMER! Summer means anniversary, Hawaii, birthday, parents in town, shorts, gardening, barbecues, frisbee, no socks, driving with the windows down and the music blaring. And I LOVE driving across the Ballard Bridge and singing along to the country station at the top of my lungs. The other drivers pull up alongside me and think: "GOD. She makes Sara Evans sound like a COW in LABOR." But when it's sunny out and I'm wearing my movie star sunglasses, I totally don't care.