Its been grey here since October. This is not hyperbole. Grey... since October. All my readers in Portland, and Finland, you know what I'm talking about. My California friends, you just have to accept what I'm telling you. There are a lot of things that can happen to a person who hasn't seen the sun in seven months.
Here are a few of them:
Your lips turn white. Its true, blood rushes to your extremities to keep them from falling off, and your lips can, and do, go to hell. The portal of love that was once my mouth is now just a jagged gash into which I shove the pie of despair.
When I stand in front of a bright light, you can see my internal organs.
My skin is so dry and flakey I leave a flesh trail behind me you could ski on.
My hair, also dry, grows long and wide, sort of triangular, starting darker and lank close to my head then flaring out at the bottom in a geometric tangle of dead ends and once optimistic highlighting.
My fingertips have spent months in the meat grinder of my mouth. My cuticles are sharp and dangerous. I cannot slip a synthetic top over my head without getting my hangnails and flesh hooks caught in its extruded fibers.
The bottoms of my feet actually abrade my sheets, causing shorter life span for my fine linens.
My Vitamin D levels are so inadequate I may go blind and develop rickets, if the depression doesn't kill me.
My zits, when they gather their strength and make a run for the surface, show like bas relief against the scrim that I call my complexion.
But the worst thing about no sun is the fact that there's no fucking sun. Its grey as a dead hamster around here and its hard not to take it personally. Wisconsin gets a little sun, even St. Louis, but somehow the earth's rotation is unkind to Cleveland, and the sun, when it shines, is swallowed whole by lake Erie.
I'm right now sitting on a grow bulb. And by its light, I can see I need to eat more vegetables.