As we enter February, I must warn readers that I am in the middle of Seasonal Affective Disorder grouchiness. It will only last another month, but that month is the longest of the year, no matter what the calendar says.
How bad can it be? During this month, I have no friends, Gary no longer loves me, I know that I am heading into poverty, and I am certain I have a life threatening disease. (One February, I convinced myself I had uterine cancer and it wasn't until the end of the month that I remembered I no longer have a uterus.) I am anxious, teary, cranky and should be avoided. There is no reasoning me out of this. It is there.
One advantage is that because of this short lived disorder, I can related to those who suffer from depression year round and can write those feelings into my short stories and novels. I put it all into my journal, because otherwise I wouldn't remember.
By the beginning of March, I enter a state of euphoria, rejoicing over nature, and once again connecting with people. Until then, beware.
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