And this is a woman I know whose husband
is a comic, a very funny guy.
Happened to mention that he had seasonal affective disorder.
And you probably know that that's
about sort of lack of sunlight and maybe you don't know it
here so much, I'm not sure.
At least not right now.
There's got to be some acronym for the opposite of that,
like too much sun.
But so the-- of course the acronym
is SAD, seasonal affective disorder.
Whoever came up with the acronym must
have been happy to think of everyone in winter walking
around saying I have SAD instead of this time of year
when the light leaves early and intimations of colder hours
settle over the houses like the great oppressive oily scoots
of a dragon's belly.
I feel I don't know, a sense of ennui, listlessness
or lassitude.
But more than that a definite undertow
of dread spreading over the waters of my
already not exactly sunny to begin with soul.
If one can even speak of the soul anymore,
which is part of the problem, isn't it?
I mean how do I even know if I have one given that I'm
essentially a secular humanist and missing
whatever constellation or holy Smurf guides
people through their lives.
Jesus or Muhammad and then either Muhammad--
either Muhammad's son or his second in command
depending on who you thought was the true successor,
which is only one of the problems still being worked out
by wars and car bombings.
Just as similar problems were solved in earlier times
by flambéeing people in public after rack induced confessions.
And if there's no immortal soul that's
soon too soon if you ask me, to be either world up to heaven
like a cow shining in a tornado or else
hauled screaming into the underworld like a pig
to a scalding tank that is if we just stop the filament worn out
or shooting through the glass and exploding
the bulb but either way done.
Done for pure nothing.
The socket empty for long enough to hear some prayers
or poems, and then another little light
bulb screwed into place with songs and lullabies.
And eventually, loud music and drugs,
which maybe I should be taking to overcome this thing
I hardly know how to describe and which hardly anyone
wants to hear about.
Since who can hate-- who can think
too long about such matters before all they want
is a drink or a quiet place to curl up
or a TV to turn on along with every light in the house,"
end quote.
[LAUGHTER]
And when your lover if you are lucky enough to have one,
even if you sometimes feel bored and stifled by him/her/they
or that maybe you could have done better,
especially in terms of having more sex,
money, complex conversations.
A heavier plinth for your nobly woeful statue
asks, what's wrong?
You can forget all that and simply say, I have SAD.
Since everyone knows the diagnosis is the first step,
the one which stair or ladder is better left
unmentioned since they lead either way.
But our best traveled with someone
steadying the rungs are waiting at the top or bottom
with a candle, a word, a cup of something hot and not
too bitter that you can drink down and proclaim good.