I was surprised and disappointed to learn we switch back to standard time tonight instead of next week, as I had been thinking. I don't really mind the changes in and out of Daylight Saving Time. Lose an hour, gain an hour, no big deal—especially now that I have no schedules.
It's just that the end of DST tells me, "Stop pretending there aren't fewer and fewer daylight hours, chum. We're sliding into the seriously short days now."
Seven weeks until the shortest day of the year. Crap. Then there's that awful mental trick where it seems like we don't get normal length days until, like, forever. Daylight hours should be the same as they were today by Valentine's Day. But it doesn't feel like it until April or so.
Making all this worse is my mild Seasonal Affective Disorder. Whoopee. At least I have easy access to real daylight. But when I'm in my winter funk, it's harder to drag myself off the bed, out of the van and into the sun.
And then there are the genes I must share with hibernating animals.
The best way to deal with my seasonal "depression" is to not be alone—which runs counter to my reclusive nature. I need to winter among other vagabonds. Whether I like it or not. Whether they like me or not.