Shut Up about Seasons

"What foolish forgetfulness or mortality to defer wise resolutions to the fiftieth or sixtieth year, and to intend to begin life at a point to which few have attained."

 - Denis Diderot

The sun sets by 4:30 and never makes it to the top of the sky at noon because I now live at latitude 47N and tomorrow is December.

In addition to coastal regions bordering the Mediterranean Sea, the fabled Mediterranean Climate (30-45 degrees north and south of the equator) are found in western coastal regions of large subtropical continents including Southern California, central Chile, southern Western Australia and the western cape of South Africa. I lived in a Mediterranean climate until last week.

I had to use the defroster on high to melt the ice on my windshield this morning, which I appreciated the hell out of because it gave me time to overcome the shock of needing an ice scraper. (Notice the outside temperature in the upper left corner of dash display.) When I moved here a week ago, the temperature was 43f and I was assured this is as cold as it gets. (Insert insufferable joke about how now I live where they have seasons.) Just because meteorologists in San Diego rarely use the term wind-chill factor, doesn’t mean they don’t, quotey hands, appreciate it. Despite what some people think, there are seasons in Mediterranean climates. They are slightly subtler than a blizzard or a hurricane; and the understated charm of warm sunshine cannot be overstated. The beauties of the swirling grey fog at noon escape me.

Basking in the breeze from my Dyson heater, and in the glow of my full-spectrum light bulb I’m taking a break from unpacking boxes and wondering what the hell I was thinking moving here alone this time of year as we head into the colder, shorter and darker days of the year.

While the industrial strength grease prescribed for my anxiety-induced hives has begun to stop the blistering and itching, I was unable to obtain a simple blood test to determine whether the elevated levels of rat poison in my blood have subsided, because the people at the anticoagulation clinic were, let’s just say, uncompassionate. I was denied a test this morning despite a referral I was told they required. We never even got to the point where the receptionist listened to me explain today is the last day of my current insurance coverage and I haven’t had confirmation of my new local insurance. Nope, even if you’re bleeding from your eyes.

I thought this was the season of peace and joy, asshole. Guess you don’t have that season in this latitude. Before walking away in disgust, I said why don’t you just tell me “I am not the little prick you are looking for”?