It’s happening again.
Every year, when the telltale signs of inevitable changes start appearing outside of my window — the deceptively warm-colored leaves trying their damnedest to pull a hood over my eyes to distract me from the dull winter browns and grays to come — when it seems like everyone else is excited about holiday shopping and knit sweaters and roasting chestnuts (do any of you actually roast chestnuts?), I get SAD.
I do.
Don’t let the beauty of these trees deceive you. They serve to tell tales of menacing things to come.
In fact, the only thing I really like about this time of year is the smell and taste of mulled cider. If I could sit in front of an infinitely fueled fireplace with a never-ending cup of mulled cider and the superpower of not needing to pee for 4 months (which would require stepping onto the cold, tile bathroom floors), there is a possibility I could remain content throughout the winter.
But probably not, because there’s only so much perfection one can take before it gets old, you know?
Like an awesome apple pie with vanilla ice cream. I love it, but could I eat the whole pie in one sitting?
I think not.
So 4 months of this is a little excessive. If winter lasted a week, maybe we’d have a better relationship.
But it doesn’t, so I get SAD.
Yes, I diagnosed myself.
Yes, I do this a lot.
Yes, I’ve sought professional help. It didn’t go well.
Normally, I am a morning person. I willingly get up at 6:45 — maybe 7:00 or 7:30 on the weekends — just to have my coffee, do some morning reading, and maybe write a blog post, all before showering and heading to work. (When you’re dependent on coffee, like me, you don’t drink it — you have it. Like it’s a part of you. Is that wrong?)
However, come the chilly months, I just don’t want to get out of bed. Like… at all. And not just because stepping outside of the warm covers means my body temperature will instantly drop 20 degrees, and not just because it’s still dark outside, but simply because I don’t want to face the day.
Seriously?
How SAD is that?
It’s like one of those horrible depression commercials where they talk about it physically hurting (and sometimes it does), except I know what is happening and why it is happening, which, I think, somehow makes it a little less depressing.
Because I know it won’t last forever.
Which is good, but not good enough to make it go away.
So, like last year, I’m taking a bit of a reprieve.
It’s time, once again, for the beautiful people of Miami to squint — not against the ever-present God of the Sun, but against the phenomenon of my blindingly pasty skin, pure and white as the freshly fallen snow. Well, maybe snow that’s been sitting for a day and has a light coating of freckled sand from the trucks that stop the streets from getting slippery, if we’re going to be honest.
And you know we’re nothing if not honest here.
This year will be different, though. Interesting.
See, this is going to be a reunion of sorts, which is exceedingly rare for this brokedown family. My little sister Kelly, who lives in Fort Lauderdale, is not only going to be hosting me for Thanksgiving, but we are also cooking for our mother on her first trip to the Sunshine State since my sister took up residency, and our brother, whom Justin and I recently visited in Cleveland.
The last time the 4 of us were together was about 4 years ago, when we decided to visit Kelly when she was living in Savannah, Georgia. So apparently, if we want to continue having these little get-togethers, my little sister needs to keep moving.
Joel will be getting a hotel room after the first night, which is why we usually refer to him as the intelligent sibling. Because with my mom, sister, and myself holed up in a tiny apartment for an extended amount of time, there’s no telling what might happen.
It could be a really interesting study for any burgeoning sociologists out there.
Anyone?
No?
You’re right — it’s best to stay away from a lit fuse. Which is why we decided Justin should stay behind, as should Ed, my mother’s significant other. (Really, the reasons were more financial than anything else, and while it’s weird for Justin and me to spend this holiday apart, we figure we’ll make up for it by spending Christmas together. You know — fires and chestnuts and all that jazz.)
What’s even more exciting is that I’m getting a road trip out of the deal. Yep, the Tracker and I are headed south for part of the winter, and we couldn’t be happier.
I just wish I had a little more time to do some exploring, but maybe I can still cook something up for the arrival of spring. Because nothing is better than celebrating the return of warmth, sunshine, and — you guessed it — my sanity.