Dim Bulbs
by Jonathan Penton

God, I hate Januarys.

I know I mentioned this in a rant last year at about this time, but I really hate Januarys.

Last August I saw a new doctor for the first time, a general practitioner. He asked me the usual questions for a first time exam: what diseases and conditions run in my family, are my relatives deceased and what did they die of, and so forth. He asked if I drank, and assured me that he would be non-judgmental, that he wanted to know for medical reasons. He then asked if I had ever done any recreational drugs, and again assured me that he would be non-judgmental. That was good, because we were discussing recreational drugs for a while. Finally, he asked if anyone in my family had a history of mental illness.

When we got to my aunt, I stated that she had been diagnosed with Seasonal Affected Disorder. To my surprise, he furrowed his brow and asked, "What's that?"

"It's when you become depressed during the darker months," I replied.

"But isn't everyone like that?" he asked. And I could only agree, everyone is, although I daresay my aunt feels the negative pull of the darker months more acutely than some of us.

Salon recently ran an article on SAD. They said that the standard treatment is "light therapy." "Light therapy" is, you guessed it, placing the depressed person in the light for several hours a day. Florescent lights are often used, because they provide such an even, reliable source, but there's no conclusive evidence showing that they are better than any other kind of light.

So, this January, I kept my house extremely well-lit at all times. I've been using florescent bulbs for some time now, and have minimized any time spent outside (something I'd be inclined to do, anyway, as I hate cold weather). The only times I've spent in the dark have been while actually sleeping or while driving from building to building.

You know what? It didn't work. January still sucks. No matter where one is, or under what kind of conditions, one can still feel the distance of the sun, and the eagerness with which it will set.

We are organic beings, and like every other organism on this planet, we flourish during the summer and retreat during the winter. We are unique in that we refuse to accept this fact; we have built an artificial environment designed to keep us fully functional during the winter months. It doesn't work, of course. We just have a miserable time of it. Humans weren't built to function during the winter, and they certainly weren't built to drive through rush hour traffic at night time, on a highway that's so well-lit that you can't see the ditch a meter to your right. We certainly weren't designed to drive on poorly-lit highways, but I don't really have to so there's no point in me whining about that.

By the way, someone in a Usenet group recently attempted to flame me by writing a poem about my penis. Naturally, I asked if I could publish it, and he declined. I then pointed out that, through the miracle of Deja News, I could simply link to his post, and the poem therein. He seemed displeased with this information, but I do hope you enjoy the poem. I did.

Jonathan Penton is the overworked editor and publisher of Unlikely Stories. Check out his literary works at this site.