Frazzle Rock

On the elevator this morning, all was awry. There were three of us:

1 (one) man, annoyingly cheerful, also: British;
1 (one) woman, frazzled, announcing that she never should have gotten out of bed this morning;
1 (one) me, also frazzled, also (one-quarter) British

As annoyingly cheerful people tend to do, the man took it upon himself to attempt to introduce The Frazzle to the bright side of life. The Frazzle, of course, was having none of it.

"Come on!" he said. "It's spring! And today's Thursday! Which means tomorrow's Friday! How bad could it be?!?"

Having just dropped a pile of magazines on the subway and slammed into two (2) walls due to lack of sleep and coffee, I was about to punch him in the face until The Frazzle stared at the elevator ceiling and said under her breath:

"There are more suicides in April than during any other month."

I almost kissed her. Spring has always been the hardest time of year for me. Growing up in Michigan, you'd think I'd be taken down by Seasonal Affective Disorder with a wallop every winter, paralyzed by a lack of sunlight. But as far back as I can remember, until only the past couple years, I would spend the entire month of May crying in bed. I have no idea why this was, but my body chemistry would stage a coup against my brain and all my innards would sing a rousing chorus of "Dysfunction Junction" until mid-June.

I don't think all seasonal malaise necessarily exists in a vacuum; currently, there are certainly things happening in my life acting as catalysts for feeling like crap, as opposed to the more automatic crap-onset of my youth. I suppose in the past, spring was always change — end of the school year, adjustment to a new schedule, saying goodbye — and I feared change. These last few years, I found myself petulant because of not enough change. Perhaps being a cynical and indignant East Coaster Via Northern Midwesterner, I'm not meant to experience too much sunlight. And that's probably also the British in me, as my constitution necessitates that I protect my pasty pallor from the elements. But I know people have it rough this time of year.

Some people just get burned by too much sun.

It's not just me. I'd be willing to bet you feel this too: You're not sleeping, you feel a little bloated, you finally got rid of your cold but your stomach's upset, you're in a really foul mood. It's everywhere. And as my friend Heather reminded me today, misery loves company. So let's all share our own personal elevators with The Frazzle, and boot that cheesy "Looks like you've got a case of the Mondays!" English fella to the curb.

(Just to prove a point, Webster is laughing at me. I looked up indignant in the dictionary to make sure I was using it properly, and here's what it said:

indignant: to be indignant; filled with or marked by indignation

Suck it, Webster.)

The only thing that cheered me up today was when Jessica said to me, as our breakfast-time conversation was winding down, "I'm sorry I interrupted your melon."

How do you feel today? If you feel splendid, let us know, but please refrain from cheering up Les Miserables. We're armed.