We’re going on damn near two weeks of winteresque temps and grey skies, here. Now, that may seem like nothing to write home about for the denizens of, say, the entire state of Oregon, but in ordinarily sunny Sheridan, WY, tempers are running high. I can tell, because the nice old ladies with their crucifixes prominently hung around their necks pause for an extra beat before smiling.

Personally, I hate the color grey. It’s not black, it’s not white. It’s not rain or snow–but it’s not NOT rain or snow, either. Overhead, the color grey holds a promise of something awful. Or else it merely threatens all day long, only to release you, perfectly dry, by evening. Which is even worse.

Grey skies are bullies like that.

And after two weeks of drizzle/hail/snow/dry ground I’m barely functional. Put up or shut up, sky! Dump another ten feet of snow, if you have to. But then let’s get on with calendar-appropriate weather. My poor daffodils are poking their heads up, checking out the cloud cover, and hovering half-in and half-out of the soil. They’re terrified. I can tell.

Personally, I think the rush to cure swine flu should take a backseat to a little something I like to call sun seeding. Because combatting grey-sky-induced depression (and its resultant overeating, which leads to diabetes and contributes to skyrocketing health care costs) with good old-fashioned Vitamin D shining from the sky is just as valuable a use of our scientists’ time. Sorry, Wilbur. Curing the spread of your disease simply isn’t as high on my list as wearing my new, red sandals.

Come to think of it, that may explain why no one ever got back to me about my application to the World Health Organization….