While driving Max to preschool this morning, it dawned on me that the reason I want to chase a month’s worth of Wellbutrin with several pounds of rotini is not because I am a depressive sloth by nature. Rather New England is ruled by an evil troll who dims the lights every November and refuses to turn them up again until sometime in May. Even at high noon on a mid-winter day, with the sun at full power, it shines like a 15 watt lightbulb pulled from the depths of a dollar store bin.
This lack of exposure to quality light has a trickle down effect that causes some people to slouch, grimace and hide under purple chenille throws while sipping gallons of raspberry Earl Grey tea.
Publishers that put anthologies on hold indefinitely might also shoulder some blame.