In the summer I am the sort of person that is up at the crack of dawn; plenty to do and happy to be doing it. My skin and hair glow and my spirit flourishes as the sun shines. Everything is magical!
The winter is a completely different story. My complexion becomes pallid and my hair lank, but not only that, my mood changes and I become the most boring lady on the planet. Gone are the days of meeting my friends for a drink after work or sitting in the garden with my sister having dinner, and they are replaced with me in my pyjamas for ninety percent of my free time. Same girl, different pyjamas. My room is like the Charlie and The Chocolate Factory equivalent of the sleepwear world; full of colours and patterns, spots and stripes, tartans and spangly stars. My duvet becomes the light of my life, and add a blanket over the top and you will be bound to never see me again, having lost me to the world of sleep and dreams.
Yet I do not believe in Seasonal Affective Disorder. Everyone gets the doldrums in the winter and longs for the days when the sunlight dances through the window and prevents you from having any sort of lie in whatsoever. Everyone longs for starchy, carby foods in the colder months, and lovely salads are replaced with mash and cheese. This is just the way life is.
It does however grate on me ever so slightly when smug people abroad speak to you in these dark times. Yesterday my other mother called from California and I told her in a rather Eeyore doom and gloom fashion that the sun hadn’t even bothered to raise its weary head for the past few days, leaving us bathed in a pathetic moon glow, peppered with rain. She sympathised, and told me it was cold in California. She paused, and added “the doors and windows are all open, but there is a slight chill in the air.”
Oh, how I long for a simple light chill in the air!