Cloudy and dark, with a chance of chocolate

Comparatively, given the fact that I am a post-menopausal, slightly more than middle-aged woman who has a job, a business and a home that will be soon be torn up one more time to install flooring throughout…I’m generally not a moody person. I’m pretty much the same sardonic but grudgingly lighthearted (in that “to know her is to love her—but really, you have to know her” kind of way) person all of the time. I don’t worry all that much. Everyone in my circle of affection is well—or getting there. There’s enough money to live modestly comfortably with some fancies every now and then. I don’t worry about my job, because if thrown into an immediate state of unemployment, it’s been proven to me that my business would provide, given the extra time I could bring to it. My dog obeys, generally so does my hair. I have good friends, a comfortable home, someone to love me and I can still squeeze into some of the smaller sizes in my closet (although the Hershey bars required to feed these nasty feelings threatened to change that). I wasn’t in Boston, the town of West, Texas or China this week. So what’s there to complain about?

Nothing. Which is why falling into a blue funk over the last couple of weeks has come as a surprise. And a source of guilt. I have no reason to be in a bad mood. But I know it’s temporary. So I find it hard to believe some people have to deal with this all the time.

Seriously, if this mood is a taste of a sliver of a fraction of what clinical depression feels like, my heart goes out to anyone suffering from it. I don’t know how one could function. And realizing that people suffering from depression probably don’t function all that well, I mourn for all the books unwritten, inventions un-invented, adventures not pursued, problems unsolved and lives only partially lived as a result. It’s why more needs to be done to get depression out of the closet, out in the sunlight to get more people to ‘fess up to having the condition, then finding better ways to treat it. Not just pills that bring on issues of their own.

Compared to many, I’m on a continual picnic. But the last couple of weeks…

I think the majority of my rotten mood is due to the weather. Spoiled by last year’s early heat wave, winter seems to be going on way too long. I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of coats and heavy sweaters. I miss swishy skirts and bare legs. But as I wash and ready my summer things, sadly, I know that wearing them now would result in more than just my mood being blue.  Add that to my now going on more than two weeks dose of flu/bronchitis/Ebola that’s energy draining and refuses to leave without a fight. Plus I had what could be described as a career setback these past few weeks.  Plainly, I didn’t get what I wanted. And quite frankly, I usually do.

But I think I’m starting to swing out of it.  I noticed that despite the unrelenting cold and rain and snow, bits of my rose bushes are turning green. That made me smile. It might be warm enough to get my seedlings in the greenhouse this weekend. And I felt refreshed by a bit of self-prescribed therapy yesterday involving a long lunch, a $398 Coach bag going for $150 at Winners and having my first (of many) Starbuck’s iced mochas.

No, I’m not going to even try to defend against the stereotype.

I’m sure that before I know it, I’ll be enjoying that freedom of bare legs under one of those swishy skirts, possibly while sitting in the sun with another Starbucks iced mocha. My professional ego will eventually reset itself. My heavy coats will be in a box in the basement, the Hershey Bar monkey will be off my back and my roses—and the rest of the garden—will be in bloom. This mood will be barely a memory.

But it can’t happen soon enough.

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