Okay, fine. The holiday is behind me, I endured Christmas Eve with my family with only one personal confession. No, make that two; I had to explain the dark circles under my eyes, as my insomnia has grown worse. My mother is encouraging me to get a prescription for Ativan. My younger sister is insisting I need to go back on an anti-depressant and my older sister is convinced I need to find God. My fiancée assures me all I really need to do is to stay buzzed on wine and have sex daily.

The solstice has come and gone and now the days will grow longer. The question is, can I make it through the winter months without telling them all to fuck-off and leave me alone?

I hate winter. I hate the cold. I hate leaving for work in the dark and still being there when the sun sets. I hate traffic when it snows. I hate the stupid remarks of non-smokers when they see me smoking outside at work. Yea, yea, yea, I’m a diehard. I’ll face wind, ice, snow, and sleet just for a nicotine fix. I have one stock answer for those who find it necessary to comment on my addiction. “I’ve never been a quitter, so fuck-off.”

I can tell my Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) has settled in for its long winter nap because I don’t normally use the “F” word and I’ve used it twice thus far in this entry.

So, do I need the Ativan my mother is pushing? Do I need an anti-depressant? Do I need to find God? Will those remedies prevent me from telling folks with good intentions to fuck-off? Maybe, but is that fix the best one for me, or the best one for them? By following their recommendations, I could make the world a better place and be nice to meddling do-gooders.

Yes, Ativan will make me sleep. The operative word there is “make”. Obviously, I don’t need to sleep. Otherwise, I wouldn’t wake up after 3 hours, wide-awake and ready to go. Yes, an anti-depressant will put a Prozac-pasted smile upon my face and I will be able to exhibit tolerance. But, is it tolerance and patience that occurs when the chemicals blanket your brain? Or, is it just total apathy? To be void of emotion is not my idea of living. Bobble-head dolls remind me of myself when I was using anti-depressants. You just smile and nod your head at the world. Yup, yup, yup, I’m okay. You don’t feel sad, you don’t feel mad, you just don’t feel.

I think I’ll combine two of the suggestions I received to combat SAD. I’ll look for God while drinking wine and have sex at least once a day. I mean, damn, Jesus was a fan of wine. And, who planted the primal urges of mankind?

At the least, I now have two goals to keep me busy until I can sit on my deck, margarita in hand, calming my inner voice, and reminding it to shut up and stop telling everyone to fuck-off.