Seasonal Affective Disorder shouldn’t be called S.A.D. so much as HIDE THE CARBS SYNDROME.
I’m telling you, once that sun starts switching off at 4:00 (the other rainy day, I swear it was getting dark at 3:15), I am a carb seeking missile. You’d think I was training for a marathon. I have come to accept that as long as I live in New England, to get through winter, I need a giant coat, I need light, and I need a big hunk of bread.
If you too go to the grocery store and come back with only seven kinds of pasta, here is an article of tips on how to cope. I, for one, am grateful for it. If I can just stop stuffing my pie hole with english muffins long enough to read it.