I’ve always been a sun girl. Summer is my favorite season, hands down. I loved living in San Diego. (Until October, when I started to miss crisp days and changing leaves and a white Christmas). And yes, I’ll even confess that being tan is like wearing kisses and raspberries to me.
But I never thought I had seasonal affective disorder.
Until this June.
The sun has been woefully absent the last few weeks, a “clammy disaster,” to quote one of my favorite local bloggers. The Twin Cities have been stuck in a gray-storm-drizzle cycle. Even when the meteorologists forecast sun, it’s nothing but leaden skies as far as the eye can see. Debris clouds, fie on you.
I’ve taken to checking the visual radar like a nervous twitch, hoping to see a break in the cloud cover. I’m slightly obsessed with the long-term outlook. “Please, oh please, show two suns in a row.”
But it’s just not happening We have clear skies at sunset and sometimes for a few hours at dawn (which is about 4:45 these days). We even had a sunny morning last Friday, when the birds sang and the chipmunks danced and I bought donuts for my children in our tiny downtown and skipped my way through the farmers market.
But the clouds returned Friday afternoon and, like a rude guest, haven’t even mentioned their departure date.
I’m getting cranky. (Unusual for this sanguine.) I have no energy. I haven’t cooked dinner, something I normally love, in about 10 days. I can’t focus. I can’t find my joy.
Corey is worried about me. Yesterday night, after another mumbling rant about “gray, no sun, never sun,” he took us all out to dinner and practically forced me to order a margarita. He’s threatening to put St. John’s Wort and fish oil in my morning coffee.
And I’m starting to believe I really do have S.A.D. The idea of getting out of bed to face another day of gray makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
Anyone have some input? Or should I just buy a package at the tanning salon down the road?