Pacific Northwe't

Day 52: Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else, but when people ask if I like the Pacific Northwest, the first thing I do is correct their spelling. It's "Pacific Northwe't," folks. I don't know how that S got in there, but it doesn't belong. Historically, November and March are our wet months. We were close to average in November 2023 with 6.23" of rain (that's 15.8cm to you metric types), not enough to float a battleship but definitely enough to drown a duck. Even so, it's not the wet which sends us natives mad. It's the gloom. I doubt there's one person in a hundred, maybe in a thousand or ten thousand who doesn't suffer some degree of Seasonal Affective Disorder here (that's aptly abbreviated to "SAD"). I have to tell you, I'm anxiously awaiting the solstice. My mind won't register those first few extra seconds of daylight, but my body will. I'll be cheerier by Christmas than I was on the 20th, and by New Year's Day, I'll begin to consciously note that it isn't quite as pitch-bloomin'-bloody-black-dark at 4:15 PM as it was two weeks earlier. Mornings don't bother me. I'm up well before the sun at any time of year, but when it starts feeling like bedtime before I've had dinner, I get a little grumpy. Still, I kinda wish it would dry out just a little, if you know what I mean.