This blog is usually book reviews, author interviews and bookish matters. But today sees a deviation in that pattern. I do apologise.
As I sit here at my desk at three thirty in the afternoon and look out at the sun-cast shadows on the buildings opposite I can see the sun is already starting to go down. And I feel faintly nauseous.
On Sunday at two in the morning we endured that benighted human strategy that demands we throw our body clocks and natural rhythms upon the pyre of interference for no sound reason - the changing of the clocks. Sounds almost ceremonious, doesn’t it? It isn’t. Not for this individual anyway. With each passing year I fear and dread it more and more. I find the long hours of darkness damaging to my spirit. But why?
Is it the harshness of the clock changing? The changing of the seasons is a natural and inviolable rite of passage. It is necessary for the ecological and environmental good of our planet. Would I suffer less if the increasing hours of darkness were to happen more gradually? Is it that simple? I’m not sure.
I used to think it had something to do with the time of year you were born. Summer births produced summer people and winter births produced those who welcomed the ‘cosy’ nights. But I can’t substantiate that. I wonder if it is to do with poor sleep patterns. Do those folk who sleep the moment their heads touch the pillow and don’t wake till morning ever endure the agonies of ‘Seasonal Affective Disorder’?
When I was younger it didn’t seem to bother me. I was almost unaware. So why does it get worse and worse the older I get? Shouldn’t it get easier? Time seems to pass by so much more quickly as I age so shouldn’t I worry less because in no time at all it’ll be Spring again? It just doesn’t work like that for it’s the moment I’m in that causes me the distress. The act of closing the blinds and pulling the curtains is like being incarcerated in a claustrophobic vacuum. The knowledge that come May and June I won’t need to do that doesn’t console.
Let me say unequivocally I do not want to feel like this. I loathe it. It makes me so unhappy. And it’s not as if I just shrug my shoulders and say, well what can I do? I do try. For example this year I started to take a Vitamin D supplement. I started at the beginning of September. I figured as I’m someone who likes to be outside a lot the sudden withdrawal of Vitamin D might be a factor. I suppose there was a part of me that thought I might sail through the clock change this year. No. I started my light box therapy at the beginning of September too. I’m walking every day to release the endorphins that they tell us must be released. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be much worse without implementing these strategies? I won’t know unless I stop them!! And I’m not risking that! People offer well intentioned platitudes that I accept with gratitude but I know, because I’ve tried them all that they make little difference,
And then when I think of all that’s going on in the world today I berate myself and ask how do I dare, how do I fucking dare, to be so self absorbed ? And in the vortex of paradox that my mercurial self inhabits the guilt of that makes me feel even worse!
And if anyone has read this, I thank you! And if not it doesn’t matter. For in cyberspace no one can hear you scream.
Picture is by Jojo from Flickr
Picture is by Jojo from Flickr