Let’s talk for a moment about seasonal depression.
I am mostly convinced that the Great Northwest gets a seriously unfair rap in the big bad world of depression. I have friends–and yes, even family members–who find the constant drizzle to downpour absolutely debilitating. They talk about the rain and the cloud cover like it’s some oppressive evil force that keeps them from feeling happy.
You want to talk about oppressive weather? Try sunshine. Every. Single. Day.
It’s January and do you know where all my cute scarves are? Carpeting the floor of my car. Every day that I try to venture out into the glaring winterless sun I don a cute, stylish scarf and think, it can’t be that warm outside, it’s January.
Then I get in my car to drive away, and before I reach the end of the block, I tear said scarf from my neck, toss it to the floor and blast the air conditioning.
I have sun induced panic attacks at least three times a week. There, I said it. My soul has had about as much sunshine as it can take, I think I have sunny depression.
Wait a second, I have to google this and see if it’s a real thing.
Aha! It’s real. Check this quote from some internet site.
“Doctors say summer depression only affects about one percent of the population, who tend to sleep and eat less, lose weight and generally experience a heightened state of agitation, NBC News reports.”
With the exception of the whole “lose weight” and “eat less” part, that is me in a nut shell. I have summer depression. In January.
So wrong.
I am home this weekend visiting my family and shopping with my mom and a few of my sisters (wish it were all of my sisters, I love them to death) and here Western Washington the rain is pouring in refreshing sheets and my hair is frizzy and damp. My arthritis is already acting up, my boots are mud splattered, and I couldn’t be happier.
I actually wanted to get up and wear makeup today. Do you know how often I have the energy to fix my face in Las Vegas? Never. I frequently go face naked until 4:00 when I know Jason is getting ready to come home and doesn’t deserve a side of Ugly Wife for dinner.
I’m afraid we missed the only cold week Las Vegas had to offer and as the calendar inches its way toward summer heat my soul shrivels and I don’t know how I’m going to survive the oppressive sunshine.
I need to spend more time under a sprinkler. Or move. Moving would be good.