Living in New England is, quite frankly, no fun. Winters are tough; I’ve got three different friends online right now talking about their seasonal depression. All live in Connecticut. This depression comes about due to lack of sunlight in the winter season, and from living in Connecticut.
This winter arguably hasn’t been bad in terms of snowfall. I think the local school system has had maybe one snow day, which is probably a new record. What we have had, however, is more typical of New England, and significantly more dangerous: sequences of days in which it’ll snow on Monday, heat up to fifty degrees on Tuesday, then drop to negative temperatures Tuesday night so all that melted snow will turn into a sheet of ice.
I’m not making that scenario up. It happened two weeks ago. On Wednesday of this aforementioned week, I stepped onto my front stoop and immediately slipped. My first thought was to protect my back, so I cleverly broke my fall with my face. Now I had a fat lip and a cut chin. I’m in the middle of a job hunt right now, so of course, as soon as I stepped back inside, I got three phone calls requesting I come in for an interview that day. I landed none of these jobs.
I won’t make that mistake again, I decided, but winter had other plans. Two days ago, it snowed again. Then temperatures rose, snow started to melt, and things were looking good. Not so fast, winter said. Temperatures plummeted, turned the yard into a hockey rink, and then winter put the final touches on its devious plan: it dropped another half inch or so of snow, hiding the ice beneath.
When I stepped outside this morning, I was feeling optimistic. The sun was shining, there was plenty of coffee in the pot, and a new month meant spring was just around the corner. Two steps out of the house, I realized my error: all was not well; in fact, things were very, verybad. It was freezing, I was out of coffee creamer, Connecticut’s new governor was proposing a new tax on air, and I was going to face-plant yet again.
In the three seconds during which I pinwheeled my arms to try and regain my balance, I had two thoughts: protect my back! But not with my face!
This time, I broke my fall with my belly and knees. My belly worked as sort of a bumper, as I’ve put on a few pounds as of late, and I only took one scratch to the gut. My knees, however, fared worse: now I had scrapes and bruises on both, and walking or driving was going to be a challenge over the next few days. As soon as I stepped inside, I got two phone calls for interviews. Face-to-face, of course. I sighed, pushed my kneecaps back into position, and hoped for the best.
Seasonal depression in Connecticut: Can you blame us?
This winter arguably hasn’t been bad in terms of snowfall. I think the local school system has had maybe one snow day, which is probably a new record. What we have had, however, is more typical of New England, and significantly more dangerous: sequences of days in which it’ll snow on Monday, heat up to fifty degrees on Tuesday, then drop to negative temperatures Tuesday night so all that melted snow will turn into a sheet of ice.
I’m not making that scenario up. It happened two weeks ago. On Wednesday of this aforementioned week, I stepped onto my front stoop and immediately slipped. My first thought was to protect my back, so I cleverly broke my fall with my face. Now I had a fat lip and a cut chin. I’m in the middle of a job hunt right now, so of course, as soon as I stepped back inside, I got three phone calls requesting I come in for an interview that day. I landed none of these jobs.
I won’t make that mistake again, I decided, but winter had other plans. Two days ago, it snowed again. Then temperatures rose, snow started to melt, and things were looking good. Not so fast, winter said. Temperatures plummeted, turned the yard into a hockey rink, and then winter put the final touches on its devious plan: it dropped another half inch or so of snow, hiding the ice beneath.
When I stepped outside this morning, I was feeling optimistic. The sun was shining, there was plenty of coffee in the pot, and a new month meant spring was just around the corner. Two steps out of the house, I realized my error: all was not well; in fact, things were very, verybad. It was freezing, I was out of coffee creamer, Connecticut’s new governor was proposing a new tax on air, and I was going to face-plant yet again.
In the three seconds during which I pinwheeled my arms to try and regain my balance, I had two thoughts: protect my back! But not with my face!
This time, I broke my fall with my belly and knees. My belly worked as sort of a bumper, as I’ve put on a few pounds as of late, and I only took one scratch to the gut. My knees, however, fared worse: now I had scrapes and bruises on both, and walking or driving was going to be a challenge over the next few days. As soon as I stepped inside, I got two phone calls for interviews. Face-to-face, of course. I sighed, pushed my kneecaps back into position, and hoped for the best.
Seasonal depression in Connecticut: Can you blame us?
Pictured: my backyard.
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