25 February, 2013

Cabin Fever

If I were Innuit, I would have been sent out onto the ice by now.  If I was Anangu I would have been sent out into the desert.  If I was living with my parents I would have been given a "clip under the ear," by now.  Why?  Cabin fever.

I'm sick of the long grey days.  I'm sick of the cold weather.  I'm sick of snow and ice.  I'm sick of freezing cold wind and sleet.  I'm sick of spending my weekends in the house looking at my ugly garden.  I'm sick of being sick!  I need to get out of the house and I need some sunshine.  The amazing month in Australia is nothing but a distant memory.  So distant, I can barely remember how it felt to have the sun on my face.

I'm short with Raina and even shorter with Maarten.  The poor man is being blamed for everything.  My gloves, hat and scarf were missing this morning.  He happily went searching in the car to no avail, while I tore our bedroom to pieces in an angry frenzy.  When I came back empty handed I immediately blamed him for leaving them in the hotel room when we left yesterday.  Why would I blame him?  They're not his responsibility.  I did find the hat, gloves and scarf - under Raina's buggy, where they had been stored yesterday while we were out and about.  Then poor Maarten made the mistake of pushing for an apology.  Apology?!  Instead I just about bit his head off!

This is unacceptable and has to stop.  In years gone by, these feelings would have degenerated into months of "I hate this fucking country" ranting, but now I know it's not Holland's fault.  The problem is with me.  And with winter.  I stare out the window at my bleak surroundings, dormant trees, endless grey and it makes me miserable.  I wonder if the sun will ever shine again.

The view from my office window today. Envious?
The view from the same window, 11 weeks ago!

In the past it has been suggested that we buy a punching bag, so I have something to take my frustrations out on.  But this won't help.  I don't want to punch something, I want to break something.  Give me an endless budget and a room at the Dorchester and I'll work out my frustrations on the furniture in a jiffy.

But this is reality.  I don't have the option of trashing a room at the Dorchester with Tommy Lee and Slash.  It won't be considered polite behaviour to kick the next cyclist who cuts me off on my way to work.  It's only a matter of time before Maarten files for divorce.  How do I fix it?  Is it vitamin D?  A general sense of winter misery that will only end with the coming of spring?  Should I move to Spain (Can I? Can I?)?

Edited to add:  I should also mention that Raina brings home a little snuffle from day care just about every week.  A snuffle that she brushes off (thank goodness), but I get so sick that I must have the plague.  Right now I have a sinus that is so blocked that my voice is hoarse and I could guide Santa's bloody sleigh.  Oh, and I've had norovirus three times since the beginning of December.  Three times!  @#%&! winter.

Help me, please!

How do you cope with winter?  Any tips for a genuine child of summer?  Does light therapy actually work, or is it all hogwash?

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