How to Soothe the Winter Blues

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A woman sitting astride a gigantic Himalayan salt lamp

Illustration (c) 2019 Jordan Jirschele

 

Q. Dear Savannah,

Living in Buffalo, NY, is bad enough under normal circumstances, but it’s pure hell in the winter. I never chose this. My husband insisted we move here 18 months ago for his job, but he can work anywhere – he’s an itinerant scrap dealer and earns cash by showing other men his junk.

This winter has been particularly harsh, and I’ve been cooped up in this apartment for weeks on end. I feel a strong urge to leave Doug and head for Miami, but meanwhile I am coping by consuming large quantities of aspirin to induce a brain bleed. What else should I be doing to ease my seasonal affective disorder?

Sincerely,
Buffaloed in Buffalo

A. Dear Buffaloed

We have much in common. Like you, I reside in a place with “buffalo” in its name. My spread is called Rancho Bisonte Borracho, which loosely translates from the Spanish to “the ranch of beautiful buffaloes.” Indeed, this sprawling New Mexico acreage is bathed in sunshine all the year round and provides the perfect haven for evading seasonal depression. Nothing could be better for my mental health in February than sipping a martini while sunning myself nude on the chaise longue until the lifeguard orders me to leave because apparently the community pool is “a family friendly environment.”

You have taken excellent steps already, Buffaloed, to care for yourself during a trying period, and I urge you to further push the boundaries of wellness and good sense. I am an outspoken evangelist for the cult of self-care, and I don’t heed any pesky ‘science’ that might dissuade me from undertaking medically questionable or outright debunked practices to maximize my well-being. I figure my body is unique, and just because a treatment didn’t work for 99,873 other people in two dozen randomized controlled trials over the course of a decade does not mean it won’t work for me.

In fact, this is exactly what I told my certified colonic practitioner at her clinic recently. “By God, Nettie,” I said, as snorted a line of virgin activated charcoal to detoxify my chakras and straddled a Himalayan salt lamp to rejuvenate my vulva, “pumping my colon full of herb-infused water may not cure my adrenal fatigue, but we’ll never know until we try, so let ‘er rip!”

I can’t really tell if the treatment met expectations, but I know my flatulence smelled pleasantly of lavender for days afterward.

Since the traditional measures to ease seasonal depression have not worked for you, Buffaloed, I recommend you seek out advanced alternative wellness practices. And, as an avid collector, may I say that if I ever make it to Buffalo – and God knows I hope I never do – I would enjoy picking over your husband’s junk.

Good luck, darling!

Savannah Signature
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