I’ve known for many years that I suffer from a little known disorder, SAD, also known as seasonal affective disorder. It has something to do with feeling really down with a mild case of depression due to the lack of sun available in the winter months. It can get pretty bad, and I live in Florida, the sunshine state. If I lived in Alaska there would definitely be an upswing in homicides, because I would have to kill those who regularly tick me off this time of year. But for me, SAD gets even much worse.
I also suffer from mutant forms of SAD such as Screaming At Dummies disorder. This becomes ever so apparent when those who don’t drive all year long venture on to the road during the holiday season and their venturing brings them right in front of me. They are in no particular hurry to go anywhere. I am in a big particular hurry to get somewhere, especially from behind them. They tootle around looking at lights and breaking every time there is another air filled, tacky lawn ornament. As if air and tacky lawn ornaments are as uncommon in the South as an accumulation of snow. They gawked out the windows at the amazing lights. They drive 4 mph. They ooh and ahh at every manner of decoration from the spectacular to the truly tacky. They have found that both the brake and reverse gear in their car work and allows them to take in the sights as many times as they want. They are driving on dangerous ground as I come armed with hatred for these lookey loos and their holiday touring spirit.
If that weren’t bad enough, I find that due to more restrictions on my time (see above paragraph) I speed through drive-thrus in order to obtain nourishment for my famished body. It’s there that the second abhorrent form of SAD appears, Stupid A#@* Ho*^ Disorder. I try to deal with the crackling squeaky voice in the box offering me some holiday piece of cheer that I wouldn’t take if they paid me to and then I have to deal with the money mistake-changer at the window. Why is it that they can see you are driving and yet they insist on handing you your drink, the straw, your change and a receipt all at the same time and they expect you to take it all in a hurry? Invariably some of the change drops on into that little 1.9 inch space between my vehicle and their building, and they expect me to open my door in that space to retrieve the lost money. Doesn’t happen. I make them trot their happy holiday tails out there and retrieve it their happy little selves. When I get to the window and finally get my order, neatly packed in the bag I speed off so fast even Santa couldn’t catch me. Only when I am long gone from their ineptitude do I discover that I paid for my order, and salivated for my order but didn’t get my order. In my bag is the holiday food they offered to sell me and I turned down. Fa la la la la.
It will be quite some time before SAD is packed away for the year. Normally this happens about April or May, depending on the sun and the stupid people of the world. I am bombarded by the idiocy I once thought was only prevalent in the South but have since discovered is seen everywhere. Every state, every country, every city. I just want to scream Stop Acting Disturbed but am more often surprised they aren’t acting. They are disturbed and are always in my vicinity. Why just yesterday I threatened a 10 year old with having her mouth duct taped if she didn’t Stop Acting Disturbed. Her mother was no help. She said she can’t help it, she’s disturbed. Proof in action, she wasn’t acting. But then I was kidding about the duct tape either.
By the time I survive the majority of the months I suffer with SAD I am ready to scream. I’ve told more than one person that if they didn’t stop whatever it was they were doing that was annoying me I was going to Seasonal Affect their Disorder. Driving. Talking. Sometimes simply breathing sets me off. I’m depressed. I’m lacking sunlight. I’m in all probability hormonal and definitely homicidal. Do I have to wear a sign?
On the really bad years I create seasonal songs to sing. Trust me they are not rated “G” and are not published anywhere. This year I’m not singing at all. I simply look at these people and tell them I have SAD. Knowing they are not going to have a clue what SAD is, I brace for their questions. Instead of the normal explanation about depression and sunlight and lack of holiday spirit, I am replying with – it stands for Stick it up you’re A** Disorder! I feel closer to May already.
From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
All Rights Reserved 2009