Seasonal Affective Disorder

Surrounded my old men who spend their retirement at the local Noe Valley coffee shop, I'm finally feeling like I'm beginning to unravel. The last few days have been packed with intensity. Accompanying middle schoolers to the slopes helped me realize my a) inadequacy as a future parent, b) selfish propensity, c) dependency on others for affirmation and d) recovery from my own traumatic middle school and high school experiences. Most of the time I think that I'm a child. I'm not ready to confront being an adult and its responsibilities. This is the first year that I have to do my own taxes and I don't even know where to begin. I have a three-hour interview on Wednesday, which could possibly determine the next two years of my life. Most days, I can only survive to live in the moment and experience the sunlight of the playground where my kids spend their recess.
I'm so thankful to experience San Francisco's warmer climate in the wintry months of January and February, when the rest of the country is struggling to stay sane. My mood seems infinitely better when the sun is shining. I feel like the world is my oyster, that I can survive my day even though I've managed to spill coffee all over my white tank top.
Maybe I was so overwhelmed by the weekend when the snow blocked my goggles and added another timely element to our trip home. I could see God in the snow, as Nathan suggested, coating everything with a pristine layer. But, as my mind tends to thoughts of self-deprecation, so does the white of the ground become muddled with the brown sludge of boots and the gray exhaust from cars.
I want to stay in the sun today, but I know that I have to enter into the tunnel of the MUNI and the florescent lights of the classroom.