by Karyn Zoldan
I hate summer in Tucson. My brain processes at half-time. I lack any energy and enthusiasm. The simplest tasks require too much fortitude.
My friends back East suffer from (SAD) Seasonal Affective Disorder, which mainly describes winter depression. Who’s responsible for overriding the season to only apply to winter—some Harvard professor? It should be rightly renamed to WAD (Winter Affective Disorder), and Arizonans can then claim SAD (Summer Affective Disorder) as our own torch song.
In the summer, I spend numerous hours being HAD (hydrating all day) and then am more BAD (bitchier and dizzier) than usual.
This summer, I made a pact with no one in particular that I was going to make the most of the next four months instead of going underground. I promised myself to listen to more live music, view midday movies, take advantage of those $20 dining deals and interact more directly with people. Since I am self-employed and work from home, I can go for days without going anywhere or talking to anyone except to my dogs, who appear rapt by idle chatter.