I shun the sun, or, Morpheus doesn't live here anymore

By no means am I sun person. If I'm out in it. I'm the one looking for the shade-giving device. However much I shun the (direct) sunlight, though, and however much of a night person I am, I am still sunlight's ravaged victim.

These nightshifts suit my taste to be up all night, since I normally don't go to bed until about 7 or so a.m. anyhow, but not finishing work until 7 means I don't get to bed until after 9, which means hours of fitful sleep and a complete lack of that nature-required serotonin provided by his majesty the bastard sun.

This lack of serotonin makes me depressed; the nagging depression makes me edgey and paranoid; the paranoia makes me worry about things I don't need to worry about, about things that don't matter in the grand scheme of it all.

It reminds me of this one bit from Henry Rollins' Boxed Life set, where he figures that someone ought to tell the very unhappy-sounding Brits that want him to come and perform in a rainstorm, that getting a gun and some vitamin C might chipper them up some. (The gun part aside, there's some pretty hilarious spoken word stuff on the Boxed Life set, even if you don't care for his music.)