At a holiday party recently, I resisted taking a turn on Santa's lap for many reasons. For starters, I thought it a bit unseemly for a fifty-five year old woman to sit in the lap of an unsmiling grown man dressed up in a bright red suit, particularly since Mrs. Claus was standing right there next to him and she did not appear to be in a particularly good mood. Factor in the long line, the tantalizingly close do-it-yourself bloody Mary bar, and the little girl who had boldly announced her intention to taint a perfectly lovely chocolate fountain with her next helping of chicken nuggets and the jolly lap pretty much lost its allure.
Bah humbug. I totally get why Mrs. Claus was looking a bit sour. If I have to drag myself out for one more minute of forced merriment I could be forced to emerge from my funk and, well, I just don't feel like it. A well meaning acquaintance who also happens to be a highly trained professional in matters of the mood made the mistake of asking me the other day how I was doing. He didn't seem horrified when I unloaded my sorry tale of woe about nothing in particular, and he didn't even suggest I pop in for an official hour on the couch. He simply suggested I go on line and order myself a special light. It would cost a few hundred dollars, but if I stared at it for forty-five minutes every morning the results would be obvious and amazing within two weeks. In fact he asked that I call him with a report after he returns from his sunny beach vacation. I wondered why he would bother with a beach vacation when he could just get his own light and stay home and watch endless reruns of Criminal Minds and Blue Bloods but he's the expert so I just let it pass.
Seasonal Affective Disorder. S.A.D. It's all about the lack of sunlight and vitamin D3, and it's too cold to go out even if I were inclined to so the indoor miracle light seemed like a reasonable idea. I even paid for an expedited delivery so I can reap the full benefits during the months when the sun don't shine pretty much at all. Sugar plum fairies danced in my head; I thought about calling some friends; I even imagined walking the dog for more than a block. Goodbye S.A.D.
The package arrived as quickly as promised, and I could hardly wait to open it and let the happiness begin. Well, hardly, but I am more patient than I thought because I was perfectly content to wait and finish watching one of my favorite episodes of Criminal Minds as it built to a climax. So I tucked the box under my desk and made a mental note to open it as soon as I began to feel sad. Or S.A.D. Which did not happen until hours later, when I thought the light might interfere with some good sleep.
It has been a couple of days now, and I have caught up on several more episodes of Criminal Minds and Blue Bloods and have even had more than a few wild mood swings but I have still not gotten around to opening the box. I have come close, but every time I think about slicing through the tape I feel S.A.D. (and more than a little bit S.T.U.P.I.D.). I think about what it might feel like to sit in front of a big blank screen of imaginary sunlight for forty-five minutes every day and I know in my heart I would much rather be sitting in front of the television watching a screen filled with imaginary serial killers and other bad guys working their own special brand of magic. I also know in my heart that I wouldn't last more than five minutes before running to the pantry for some chocolate, which is on the list of things that exacerbate S.A.D., and that would just be counterproductive. I suppose if I switched over from my stash of Reese's to a bowl full of leafy greens the light might make better economic sense, but I'm a realist, and the thought of replacing hours of crime shows and lethal carbs with overpriced fake sunlight and tasteless leafy greens just makes me sadder and sadder.
Yes, it's sad and a little bit wasteful that I am now about to pay another shipping fee to return the unopened promise of happiness, but ultimately the refund of over two hundred dollars will ease the pain. And in a few months, Santa and the bitter Mrs. Claus will be back home on the North Pole and holiday parties and sunny beach vacations and chicken nugget infused chocolate fountains will be a distant memory, and maybe everybody will stop being so S.A.D. At the very least we'll tire of it and find countless other reasons to be in a bad mood.
As for me, I am planning to use my fake sunlight refund to make sure my cable bill is always paid on time and to purchase enough chocolate to keep me from coming down from my very real sugar high before the next vernal equinox.
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