Saved By the Snow

When only a blinding white light and a soft muzzle will do.

I sat at the computer for four hours last night, intermittently gazing at the fairy lights I have strung all over the house, attempting to write something constructive and positive. Something that might help, if you, like me, struggle this time of year.

But I just couldn’t rustle up my cheerleading self. In the end, I realized I’d either have to give up or be honest. And since my writing mentor has told me that writer’s block is essentially fear, I decided I’d better push through it.

The truth is that a few weeks before Farmer died, I realized my normal seasonal depression was much worse than it had been in years. I went to the doctor, had my medication adjusted, and began to feel a little better. But I was already deep into self-protective mode, and I haven’t really come out of it. I hate to have to share this with you the week after writing such a sad post, but I can’t find a way around it. And it’s not all bad, I promise.