wintery woes

I read an article today about how seasonal affective disorder isn’t real, but it’s totally real, you guys – it has to be. And if my self-diagnosed SAD and the coincidence of my friend sending me a text – as I type this – of a beloved Peanuts character saying expletives in the snow isn’t proof enough…

…how can you trust anything, really.

I mean, when you live where I live, Punxsutawney Phil’s shadow doesn’t mean sh*t, because it’s going to be a guaranteed cold bucket of suck until May and it is legit depressing. I honestly don’t know how people here just seem to handle it, but they do.

They’re all shoveling and walking their dogs and leaving their houses.

And then there’s me – my corpse white hands, my knee-high slipper socks, and my doubled-up leggings – with the extra blankets and all the crying.

If seasonal depression isn’t real, it wouldn’t be the first time that I self-diagnosed wrong via the Internet, but then it’s like, “HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THAT IT’S COLD OUTSIDE AND I FEEL LIKE A MISERABLE COW LOL?”

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