Seasonally affected, disordered

There is a something spooky about this time of year - apart from the onset of the crappy weather and the dwindling of the daylight that brings with it protracted bleak moods - that has only just occurred to me. I always seem to get smitten at this time of year - end of October, beginning of November. Three years ago it was the English Rose (nickname self-explanatory); two years ago, The Buddhist (an American grad student over here for a year studying Asian languages); last year, The Poet (The Ex-Before-Last?!); this year, The Artist (a statuesque British visitor who has sashayed through my life wreaking romantic devastation for the last few weeks).

You've got to wonder if there isn't some sort of annual cycle at work here, related to the temperature or the hours of daylight. Perhaps there is a deep-seated genetic impulse to seek warmth and companionship during the long winter months??

Then again, perhaps not. I can't recall this being a romantically significant time of year for me before I came to this place (The Unnameable Country).

It is rather dispiriting, alarming to reflect that none of the above-mentioned has been a real relationship. The Rose (whom I had actually met, and been smitten with, several months earlier, which puts a dent in the theory for a start; although she left the country again shortly after those few early encounters, and we didn't start seeing a lot of each other until she suddenly showed up again in October) exploited me as a useful helpmate, but (aside from occasional random interludes of extravagant but seemingly non-earnest flirtiness) appeared to regard the idea of a romantic involvement with me with a wariness that bordered on, and sometimes crossed over into, outright hostility. My time with The Buddhist was very pleasant and cosy, but hardly a grand passion; and, since we both knew from the outset that it was strictly time-limited, it was really no more than an extended holiday romance. The Poet - ah, The Poet was probably the great love of my life, or one of them; but it was amour fou, and it was over in an instant!

And The Artist... well, we'll see. Neither of us wanted to get too involved, knowing that she was so soon about to return to London, but... she is hoping to be able to come back here before too long. Not for me, but to create some work here - although I hope that the idea of seeing me again and developing our relationship might be a pleasant 'bonus'.

An indefinite period of anxious waiting looms for me - just what I need at this gloomy time of year!