Saturday, January 25, 2014

Snowmaggedon, Part 3: Polar Vortex Depressive Disorder


I don't subscribe to the Farmer's Almanac, but I did hear someone say earlier this year that this current winter would be very snowy. My internal barometer agreed. I don't know why it agreed, and I have no knowledge about weather patterns and meteorology to help me agree. It just did.

I liken it to my connection with nature. All humans have a connection -- some just choose not to hear it. When I closed my eyes, after I heard that Farmer's Almanac prediction, I took in a deep breath and stretched out my arms, feeling the air blow against every fiber of my being while flashes of this current winter ricocheted inside my eyelids.

Then, I started to levitate and spin like a weather vane.

Or, I just agreed because part of me thought, "Yeah, I think we're due for a doozy."

I said one doozy. Not five. These doozies just keep coming.

Did the Almanac say how many doozies this winter would contain? Because this Polar Vortex they keep talking about is becoming a black hole. Move over Seasonal Affective Disorder, we're all suffering from Polar Vortex Depressive Disorder.

If you look inside your DSM 5, you'll see that PVDD is a grab bag of cabin fever, boredom, wanderlust, "The Shining" and fibromyalgia.

And Mother Nature isn't giving in any time soon. Instead, she keeps offering up interstate pile-ups, slide-offs, bursting pipes and power outages. We're also realizing how expensive this winter is: facets remain dripping, raising the cost of that water bill, and the furnace is running a marathon, just trying to keep the house regulated. Don't forget about the people that have beams breaking under their roofs from the weight of snow and ice, leaks and the cost to fix those burst pipes.

Trees are giving up. Furnaces are giving up. People are giving up.

Don't give up, though. We are all in this together. None of us are alone.

Except that person over there in the small black Honda. Yeah, you. You were driving like a nincompoop and slid off the road, down a small hill and can't get out, so, yes, you are alone. At least, until help comes.

But the rest of us cozied up in our houses, avoiding the white-out conditions, with crazy dogs that can't go out and play, with crazy children that can't go out and play, with crazy old people that can't go out and play -- we can get through this, and get through this we will.