Winter Blues

Today is the shortest day of the year. Thank God because I am experiencing an inability to concentrate, low self-esteem, decreased appetite, and a loss of interest or pleasure in normally enjoyable activities, and if I were able to look forward to anything, I would pleasurably anticipate the gradually increasing minutes of sunshine over the coming days and months. The winter solstice occurs at the instant when the Sun's position in the sky is at its greatest angular distance on the other side of the equatorial plane from the observer’s hemisphere. In layman’s terms, by the time you are finished working, even if you have a cushy job in the school system where you get off work in the early afternoon, or perhaps you are off for the next two weeks altogether, it is already night time.

I refuse to admit I am depressed because of the stigma associated with depression in this society. Psychiatry looks at depression as a disease while some folks view it as a constructed state of mind that you can simply “snap out of.” Never mind the egregious use of a preposition at the end of a sentence or phrase, why would anyone choose to be depressed if shrugging it off were such a simple matter?

While we’re on the subject of our society and their harebrained views about what is normal, I’d like to opine on a strange yet popular Christmas custom. This custom entails polluting the environment, raising stress levels in the body, spending precious capital you don’t have because of the economy, exposing yourself to infection and disease, and ceaseless hours wasted racking your pea sized brain for ideas that will ultimately be foolish and temporal. I’m referring to the bizarre notion of Christmas shopping.

I protest consumerism. The pleasure of my company should be gift enough for my loved ones. Not to mention I am saving my precious friends and family from the germs I did not pick up from the coughing, sneezing rugrats at the mall, the pollution I did not create by driving around parking lots searching for the perfect slot, and the needless stress I did not create from fighting the crowds. Instead, when I encounter others, I feel fresh and rejeuvenated from the quiet time I spent reading edifying literature, the wisdom from which I can share jovially during the holidays (winter malaise notwithstanding).

Just thinking about shopping has produced a rapid heartbeat, perspiration, dizziness, trembling, and nausea. Physiological processes are much more socially acceptable than psychological dysfunction, so I refuse to admit that I am experiencing anxiety, again because of the stigma.

You can thank me later for saving you from that awkward moment when you’ve unwrapped my gift and now have to (1) act surprised, (2) pretend like the worthless crap in front of you is just what you needed, and (3) waste all day being fake and brainstorming ways to incorporate the gift into a useful venture.