Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD, is a tough nut to crack up here in the Pacific Northwest. Although the days are getting longer and lighter, it’s still grey and gloomy most of the time. Right now it’s also really cold. Not a happy state of affairs for me. My best friend nicknamed me the Hawaiian Hothouse Flower. I’m tender and not particularly hardy to cold below 40 degrees or so. My leaves curl up and turn brown.

I’ve noticed my mood has been difficult for the past few weeks. Some of that has to do with my Sweetie being out of town. Some of that has to do with my changing role at home with my children. Some of that has to do with the normal ebb and flow of hormones. It’s an uneasy truce and I am finding it hard to cope without lots of sleep, exercise and quiet time.

Throw in the rebellion my right right arm has begun to raise and I’m just a few hankies away from an asylum. Luckily for me, there is one just down the street.

My right arm is a source of constant information for me. It tells me when I’ve been working too hard at cleaning the house. It tells me when I’ve been knitting too long. It also tells me if I’ve slept on a bed not suitable for me, or sat too long in a bad chair, couch, car seat – or just sat up too long period.

Start with the cleaning and throw in a little hand spinning, kneading of bread and knitting and you have a 5 alarm fire in the joint capsule which is jumping the fire lines into my chest, neck and fingers at an alarming rate. If you pile on the continental knitting I’ve been doing to further the cause of the Ivy League Fair Isle vest well you might as well just lop it off. The arm is useless.

So I’m coping with arnica, self massage and ibuprofen. My next stop will be to try one of those warm wraps you can leave on all day.

Getting old ain’t for sissies, that’s for sure.