My joints tell me it is still winter. So does last week’s major snow. Luckily, I don’t have the Seasonal Affective Disorder that some of my friends have – I hold them in the light. I hold myself in the promise of the light and wait for my croci to appear, followed by the daffodils.
I actually like winter (even if my joints don’t), but at this point my knee is hurting enough to pick up my cane again. I look forward to Spring, to everything not being so brown. To gaining some more movement.
On the good news, they changed my psych meds. Yes, I have depression and PTSD. And, although the new meds make me dizzy, I am proudly depression free for the first time in 30 years. But the side effects are big. I have problems reading. For a writer, that’s a big one. Whenever I read, I fall asleep. What price for a release from depression. I’d pay almost any price.
I got my Covid-19 shot two days ago – and yesterday evening I developed fever and chills, and a migraine. Luckily it passed just as quickly, although I am not particularly looking forward to my second shot. My partner got quite sick after his, and I normally get hit by these things worse than him.
Covid or no, Spring is inevitable. Each day is getting longer. It’s nice to have some light in the early evenings. The days will warm, not much at first. But March is just three days away. While March snows happen frequently, it is March. And March (almost) ends with my birthday on the 30th. By then some flowers are up.
The wheel of the year spins. Inevitably. Change comes. Inevitably. I finally found a drug that works on my depression. Was it inevitably? Or did I just luck into it? My joints will ease with the warmth of the day. I hope that’s inevitable, too.