There’s a lot of balderdash around the scientific and medical world about long nights and the shortage of sunny hours leading to high rates of depression in January.
It’s just another way to get more research money for doctors, who are sick of real medicine and all the lawyers that go along with it.
The real cause for winter blues should be obvious to anybody who takes a few moments to think about it.
Nobody minds the short days in December.
January is another story.
Before December 25th, there was no misery in watching the early darkness fall on fellow commuters facing rush hour in the pitch dark.
It was of no matter to hopeful hearts, anyway.
The malls were open late.
They did look pretty with all those Christmas lights, too, didn’t they?
Thoughts of presents to buy were a little irksome, but the thoughts of presents to receive made up for it.
Then the big day comes.
Alas, Santa forgot the Maserati again.
He also forgot the raise, the movie contract, the announcement that a best-selling author and producer wanted to do a book and film on your life. Where was the invitation to go on Leno, Letterman or Oprah? You asked for that specifically, so that everybody would know what a wonderful person you really are, at last. There were no offers to rule the world in your stocking either.
Worst of all, there was no winning Powerball ticket for the Big One.
January is depressing because Santa didn’t bring anything you really wanted or needed.
I bet if you ask the blokes in Australia, they’ll prove it. There are long, sunny and sad January days Down Under. Although the depressed blokes are tanned and miserable in shorts, not long-johns, it still doesn’t stop the whimpering.
Thanks to an ungrateful, deaf man in a red suit who can live forever (despite his weight and all that cookies-and-milk bribery), your life didn’t change a bit as January 1, 2006, hit.
This year is going to be full of the same worries, bills, and squabbles as the last one.
Where’s the Prozac?