This is the time of year when I’m at my flattest and least inspired. The end of winter is in sight, but the energy required to endure the previous few months has sapped my spirit so effectively that it’s hard to imagine the light at the end of tunnel is not the headlamp of the oncoming train.
Logically, I know this is nonsense. It happens every year. Spring will come, summer will come, and one o’ these mornings, I’m gonna rise up singing. As it were. But at the moment – logic, smogic.
Being old, I was brought up in an era where ‘pulling yourself together’ was a mandatory part of civilised society, and failure to do so was shameful to the point of scandalous. So I feel guilty even entertaining the thought that it’s possibly not All My Fault: Seasonal Affective Disorder might be real, and not some new-fangled gobbledegook excuse for bad behaviour. It would be letting myself off the hook to regard my current state of mind as anything but mental laziness, lack of discipline and probably self-indulgence. Although if I were going to indulge myself, I’d have thought I’d come up with something more enjoyable.