I was bruised and battered and I couldn't tell what I felt

It's around this time of the year that mild depression tends to set in. Not only does Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) always hit me like a ton of bricks, but there's also the onslaught of grading/teaching (and the sick, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, non-mouth covering students that go along with it) and pressure from the committee to actually turn something substantive in (they should write the damn thing if they want it so bad) to be dealt with. It's the perfect shitstorm that gathers just in time to ruin the respite offered by the Thanksgiving holiday (I plan on entering a food coma atop a pile of student papers stained with turkey gravy).

Usually, I try to pull myself out of this funk by looking forward to the days of Winter break. My holiday drink of choice, eggnog spiked with brandy, doesn't hurt either. But, I found this strategy to be less effective this year. At first, I thought my tolerance had just gone up after years spent in graduate school. So, a few days ago, fancying myself an almost-Doctor, I increased the dosage on my (self) medication. On a particularly bad night (details revoked) I had four, maybe five, eggnogs instead of the usual two.

The next day, I woke up with a heavy head, reached for the bedside ibuprofen and glass of water, gulped down three red pills, and took a look at my planner. Noticing that my students were turning their papers in that day, visions of Winter break, hot chocolate, and fruitcake danced through my head. My spirits were temporally lifted, and I looked in my planner to the glorious days that lay ahead. It was then that the deepness of this year's depression made sense.

Anyone else looking forward to spending the last week of December in Philadelphia?