And Im sitting at my desk, looking out of the window as cold people huddled under hoods, shuffling up the hill through the mizzle and the dark early evening to wherever they reside, ready to shuffle down the hill to the station in the morning and go back to work.
My mood, as may possibly be obvious, is not great.
I knew that moving back at nearly the middle of winter was going to be a bit ropey, with my AMAZING, almost-professional standard history of seasonal depression. But the decision had to be taken, and the move had to be made, and that was all very good, and so it was. And here we are. And I should have expected how crushed I would be, how exhausted, how teary, how brain-frozen and writing blocked. If Id wanted proof, I should have just looked back at the nine previous years of winters recorded on this blog alone – or the seven before the last two – for proof positive. Or negative. Whatever.
It is not good.
Still. It is the beginning of the year, and things have to keep moving, and work has to keep getting done, and we have to keep keeping on. In a couple of days I will make a list of resolutions. Or revolutions. Or whatever. And we will all go on as we do every year. But my growing fear of not just this winter but next is gnawing at my brain right now. And my impulse to run away – anywhere, really, anywhere sunnier, friendlier, less covered in cloud – is stronger than ever.