But it's really the darkness that gets me this time of year. I get in the pitch and by the time I come home, it's dark as well. Some people get SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder; I'm more liable to get CRANKED, Chronic Really Annoying Ninny and the other words are made up, too. Seriously. You thought there was such an illness and I was using the acronym? What was it Mr. Roark used to say? Oh yeah, got it now: brain so small if you put it in a mosquito's butt, it would roll around and makes a noise like a bee-bee in a boxcar.
I'm a little short with people, testy you might say, as the daylight disappears and that spring ahead fall back jazz isn't doing much for me and according to a person I know who says he's a farmer (he has the overalls for it), it doesn't do much for him either. So who gets helped? The folks who make batteries for the smoke alarms since the commercials for adjusting your clock always seem to suggest while you're up on the ladder check the smoke alarm and put in fresh batteries. How about if I sell the ladder and just remember to add or subtract an hour from whatever Mickey's hands say the time is and we'll call it even.
But by this time next week, with living rooms across the country knee deep in ripped wrapping paper (the ultimate consumable? Sure gets close if it's not), almost imperceptibly the days will start to lengthen again, a few moments at a time to start as we begin the steady climb back towards the light, even if the winter weather isn't prepared to relent or release. As a matter of fact, we tend to have the worst of the winter after the shortest day is past, so perhaps it's something more than only the darkness that troubles the likes of me and you. Maybe it's the wanting what we can't have or the not needing what we do have, or worst of all, not being able to tell the difference.