Too Dark and Cold this Time of Year

 It’s hard to get motivated this time of year. The holidays are over, which is always an emotional letdown. But more importantly, there is simply way too little sunlight each day. Plus, it seems like it’s getting colder and colder. The only thing I feel like doing right now is climbing into bed and hibernating until April.

I think sunrise is about 10:30 a.m. and sunset occurs shortly after noon. OK, I might be exaggerating, but it definitely SEEMS that way, especially since during the few hours when the sun is up, it’s usually cloudy. And on those rare occasions when the sun is shining brightly, it means the temperature has plummeted to about minus-50. (Oops, I’m exaggerating again. It’s only minus-20.) 

For years I was skeptical when I heard people say they had Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), a condition which causes mood swings and depression because of a lack of sunlight. It turns out it’s a real medical condition, although you shouldn’t waste your time asking if health insurance companies will pay to let you live in Australia for the next four months. I already tried. But you know what’s even worse than too little sunlight? Too little warmth! I swear, it gets colder and colder each year. I finally figured out why senior citizens go to Florida for the winter. It’s not because they’re retired and they want to play golf all year round. It’s because they don’t want to freeze to death. It’s a medical fact that once you reach age 67-1/2, your blood turns to solid ice on the day after Thanksgiving. (I am, of course, using the definition of the term “medical fact” that means: I just made it up, but I’m fairly confident there’s a grain of truth in there somewhere.)

At this time of year, getting out of bed in the morning is torturous. Each morning, when I first realize that I’m awake, I pull the blankets up over my face. My hair sticks out like little NASA space antennae monitoring atmospheric conditions and relaying the data back to Mission Control. Lately my hair has been able to determine: (1) although it’s twenty minutes to seven, it’s still pitch black outside; (2) although it’s 92 degrees under the covers, the air temperature in my bedroom is 61 degrees and the surface temperature of the hardwood floor, which is gleefully waiting for one of my bare feet to touch it, is approximately minus-50; and (3) every guy in the neighborhood is out scraping ice off his windshield. With that kind of precise information, no wonder my body refuses to get out of bed. The only reason I don’t stay in bed until April is because at my age if I don’t visit the porcelain throne every few hours I’ll end up doing something embarrassing that I haven’t done since I was four years old. (Or maybe I was 14.)

Once I’ve finished my business in the Tiled Library, and once I’ve treated my feet for frostbite, I figure I might as well get dressed and go to work. But since the grueling act of getting out of bed pretty much used up all of my available energy — at least until I have a chance to spend another eight or ten hours under the covers — I can’t possibly be expected to do any actual work while I’m at the office. Speaking of the office, I recently proposed a plan to my boss that would solve all these problems: let me open a branch office in Australia. He didn’t say anything, but as he turned and walked away, my hair antennae were able to detect how warmly he received that idea: minus-50.