I can’t sleep.

Again.

I’ve never been a morning person in my life. When I was younger, my family used to joke that I would win a gold medal if there were ever an Olympic category for sleeping. I once slept for so long after a flight from Hong Kong to New York City, that the friend I was staying with thought I might be dead. Seriously.

So, it pains me when I can’t sleep. Which lately, is often.

My mind seems to click on around 5pm, and just keeps going until late into the evening. As a graduate student, my schedule permits me to sleep in until 9am, sometimes 10am. I get most of my work done at night, truth be told.

Except that I am like a strange version of a vampire. After the sun sets, my mood starts to turn. By midnight, I’m usually turning the corner into darker territory.

Late at night, when it’s quiet, sometimes I think about all the things I cannot control. Like whether or not people like me, or think I’m smart. Or, I’ll think about things that I have no option to change right now – especially at midnight. Like whether I’ll ever have enough money to buy a nice house, or a car.

On the worst nights, I think quite a bit about getting older. And death.

Which is not surprising given that everyone in my immediate family was dead before I hit the age of 24.

Also unsurprising is the fact that as I get older, the fears intensify. I worry about aging poorly, or not doing any of the things I want to do in life, or not being as successful as I thought I would be at the age of 18. I worry about not being the person I want to be, or making the wrong choices, or having a lot of regrets when I am 83. If I ever make it to 83, which is dubious.

Right before my grandmother died – at the age of 93 – we were sitting alone in the living room of her house. The same house, by the way, that she had lived in for at least 50 years. All of a sudden, she turned to me and asked me if I was happy. I said no. She said that she had thought as much. Then, after a long pause, she said that she never had figured me for the marrying type. She also told me that while she had loved her first husband, my grandfather – who had died from appendicitis, she had never really cared for the second. Then, after another long pause, she admitted that she wished she had never had children. That she had loved her 6 kids, but life would have been different if she had never had them. At the age of 93, she told me that she wished that she had lived more and had had to work less hard. Then she advised me never to have any children. She said that she hoped that I would be happy, and that was all.

I didn’t say a thing. I was stunned.

Growing up, my grandmother never said much about anything that really mattered. She talked about her soap operas, cooking, cleaning, and her family. She gossiped. But, she never idled away her time thinking about her life. Or, so it seemed.

Over the years, as my life has been peppered with more tragedies, I have wondered more about the meaning of life, as I know we all do in our darker hours. I have wished that I believed in something – like a God – to help ease my mind. I have wanted to know the secret to happiness, if there is one.

I think that is why I have traveled so much, and pushed myself to do all the different things I’ve done in my life. And why I have read so much, and sought out a higher degree of education. I want to find the answers.

Now, as I slowly turn older, I realize that there aren’t any answers “out there” to be found – just more questions.

How do we learn to sleep at night? To turn off the worry? To still ourselves?

There’s an old story about learning to live with your wolf. The thing that eats you up from the inside out. That gallops doggedly after you wherever you may run. That haunts you in the deep forests of your mind. The trick, the old wise men and women say, is to stand still. Just to stop and to face the wolf. And wait. If you wait long enough, if you can stand the stillness, then you will discover that you are the wolf, and the wolf is you, and that there is nothing to be afraid of in the shadows.

Not drinking alcohol, and what I’ve discovered.

1. I’ve discovered that I want a drink. Badly. Especially when I’m having a horrible day. I never thought of myself as one to self-medicate, but there it is. This begins to make me realize that a month off from all booze is maybe a good thing.

2. I’ve learned that almost EVERY social engagement has something to do with alcohol. From bowling to dinner, people push drinks on you. Not intentionally. They just offer. And wonder why you’re not having any.

3. Thus, I’ve realized just how hard it must be for an alcoholic to have friends who still drink. It feels shitty to be around slightly drunk people and be the only one sober. Refer back to #1.

4. Some people are cool with it – the experiment of not drinking. Some people aren’t. They get defensive. Like I’m judging them for still drinking. It gets worse when I say that I “might” have a problem with alcohol.

5. At first, I didn’t like going to social events anymore. Because I was scared that I wouldn’t be funny or social without a glass of wine to relax me. Alcohol is a social lubricant, right?

6. I discovered that after awhile, it’s normal not to drink anymore. I’m on week 4, and it’s turning into a normal night for me to just have a glass of water with dinner.

7. I’m losing a ton of weight by doing nothing other than avoiding my usual one or two drinks every other night. Seriously. It’s like magic.

8. I’ve also discovered that I look better and I feel better. My body, especially as it gets older, just can’t handle the booze anymore. Even a glass later, and my head starts to buzz. I think that my liver is older, too, because it felt like longer to process the alcohol in my system. I felt, in essence, drunk faster and longer. Now, I don’t get as many headaches or upset stomachs. Coincidence? Maybe. But see below.

9. I sleep better. Drinking at night was making me restless. I know it’s a depressant, but a glass or two at night was making it more difficult for me to get a solid night of actual rest. Now I wake up feeling like I actually slept.

10. I’m less depressed. And dark. And moody. Which, although it makes me funnier, is better off dead. (Remember that movie with John Cusack, and the kid on the bike? And the French chick? It’s still great, by the way.)

Procrastination: I’m supposed to be working, but instead, I’m wasting more of my potential.

Alas, it is a beautiful day here in Berkeley, California.

The sun is shining. I can hear the bells of the ice cream truck outside my window. The kids that live next door are enjoying their plastic pool. It’s 75° and a cool breeze is blowing.

I am inside.

Why?

Because I’m supposed to be writing my first field statement – about the anthropology of science. I know, that sounds really cool, right? Well, maybe not exactly.

Instead of actually writing, I’m still “researching”, which involves a lot of Google searches. And it also involves checking my email 20 times even though no one is writing to me because it’s a gorgeous day and other people have things called “lives”. Apparently, they exist somewhere out there, outside the walls of academe.

Also, it involves opening the refrigerator just to “look”. And think about eating an orange. And getting some more water, or coffee, or diet coke. And sitting back down in front of the computer with a firm resolution to: “Just write something already!”

In the back of my head, I keep telling myself that writing this is no big deal. If it sucks, I rewrite it. Emphasis on “re”, after having actually written something. Oh, I have 38 pages of notes and a complete bibliography. But no text. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Zero.

I try to trick myself into writing by thinking that at least I’m not in Haiti lining up for food. That this is ridiculous compared to most people’s troubles. I’m not a hemophiliac, right? Things aren’t so bad. So far, no cancer.

Then why am I making myself miserable?

Do I like being miserable?

I must. Because I LOVE procrastinating.

I also love thinking about all my ‘wasted potential’ while I’m doing it.

‘Potential’ sucks.

It’s overrated.

I think I’m going to dedicate a couple of postings, or maybe another whole page on “Wasted Potential”. Maybe I’ll share stories of famously wasted potentials. Or how to get over the envy that comes along with it, while you are watching other people, not laden with ‘potential’, actually out there doing things and – gasp! – succeeding. While you, me, us, whoever, are all frozen by our collective incapacity to actualize any of our so-called ‘potential’.

Oh, if only I could procrastinate the self-doubt, self-criticism, uncertainty and fear. Or FUSS, for a nice acronym.

If only I could stop all the FUSS, and get down to work.

Rainy Days Depress Me . . .

I must have seasonal depressive disorder, because rainy, cloudy, drizzly days really get me down. Especially in winter – even in California. Today was a long one, with a new law case being organized, and all the attendant downloading, printing and filing that entails. I wish I could spill the beans about it, but I can’t. It’s landmark, and it involves China and business. Is that vague enough for everybody?

Anyway, I’ve made a vow to post more often, not just on weekends. However, on days like this, I can’t really conjure up the funny. The satire, maybe. The irony of posting about depression on a site about sunny states of mind, definitely. Here’s a look at what a PhD has to say about rainy day depression.

Dark, Rainy Days May Affect Your Mood
Seasonal Affective Disorder and The Winter Blues
by Debra Moore, Ph.D.

Many of us are eager for the sun. It seems to lift our spirits, give us energy and make us feel more like getting out and doing things. Rainy, dark days seem depressing. We feel like hibernating, some of us feel like eating more, and some folks sleep more.

But for most of us, these feelings are mild. We manage to continue our daily tasks. Even if we feel like crawling back under the covers, we don’t. And if we charted our moods, researchers tell us they wouldn’t fluctuate all that much depending on the weather.

But for about about 4 to 6 percent of Americans, a seasonal pattern of mood changes has a dramatic effect on their lives. Called Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD, reports of this disorder have appeared in the psychiatric literature for decades.

And estimates suggest that 25 percent of American women may suffer from winter blues, a milder form of SAD.

You may have SAD if you have extended periods of depression during the winter months of several different years and yet no depressive episodes during the summer. Depression associated with SAD is marked by physical symptoms as well as the feeling of depression. These symptoms include fatigue, increased sleeping, increased appetite, and social withdrawal.

The symptoms tend to occur through the months of November until March. The extent of impairment at home and work are basically what separates SAD from the milder winter blues.

Women with SAD or the winter blues report they switch from healthier eating patterns in the summer months to increased, and unhealthier eating during the winter. They may routinely gain about ten pounds. They may experience food cravings, especially for chocolate, sweets, breads, potatoes, and other carbohydrates.

In severe cases of SAD, it can feel as though three to five months a year are lost to fatigue, difficulty concentrating, and depression. Sleeping may increase from seven to eight hours each night in the summer to ten, twelve, or even more hours in the winter. And it can still be hard to get out of bed in the morning.

In fact, it’s a vicious cycle. Sleeping more causes even less exposure to daylight and sunshine, and the symptoms become worse.

The exact mechanisms by which SAD is caused are unclear. Scientists think the shorter, darker days not only affect our body’s internal clock, but also actually affect chemicals and hormones in our brains. Some people, especially women, seem extra vulnerable.

For sufferers, several treatments are options. Self help may be enough for the milder winter blues. Consistent exercise, a healthy diet, avoiding oversleeping, and managing stress can go a long way. For more severe cases, antidepressants, cognitive psychotherapy and treatment with bright lights may all help.

Hmm. Gaining ten pounds? Check. Well, if by ten you mean five, then sure.

Impaired work ethic? What work ethic? You mean making a commitment to watching every episode of Project Runway isn’t a work ethic? Check.

Sleeping more? Sure, I’m actually asleep right now. I’m sleep-posting.

Self-help, my ass. I could turn on all the lights in my house, and still feel shitty on a rainy day. Eating ice cream doesn’t help, either. I’ll give her that. So, I’ll just leave it at that, set my alarm for an hour earlier, and tell you if it works.

If it does, I’ll start my own self-help site. Helping nice people to connect with their inner bitch. Oh, wait. Celebrity blogs already do that for me.

Particularly bitchy blogs, probably written by depressed, self-loathing people:

http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/ 

http://socialitelife.buzznet.com/ 

http://www.dlisted.com/