I knew something was wrong when I found myself driving home in a mild panic on a Wednesday the middle of last month.

The rain and a heavy, flat, slate-grayness had set in five days before. With a pile of papers to read and e-mails to check at work, I looked outside about 4:30 p.m. and realized the sky was — gasp — blue!

I deliberated, then rushed to my car, hoping to reach Seattle for a walk before the sun went down. I sped home, watching the sun’s rays glance at an angle over the highway, and felt like I was chasing them down.

That’s when I realized the winters in Seattle must have finally gotten to me.

When I moved here in 2000, I thought the cliches about rainy Seattle and the city’s high suicide rate were a joke.

I’d just come from three years on the East Coast, where I piled on layers of clothes in the morning and topped them with a wool shin-length coat before heading out the door. Then indoors, you’d sweat profusely because the heat was cranked up.

I remember slipping and falling on packed snow as I scraped ice off my windshield one morning.

My policy of refusing to drive when snow was falling led to awkward situations.

And my hands would crack and bleed if I went out in the morning without gloves.

And those were MILD winters for the region.

Seattle winters seemed like a piece of cake in comparison. They weren’t all that cold, there seemed to be a lot of sun compared to what I expected, and hey, if it snowed, no one else was driving either!

But gradually, the winters here have seeped into me. Last year’s seemed to drag on in endless gray drizzle and wear-out-your-windshield-wipers rain.

In San Diego, Calif., where I grew up, it’s sunny most of the year. I lived there for two decades and I never appreciated it. It felt weird to me — especially those Christmases when Santa Ana winds blew in from the desert and we went swimming in an outdoor pool.

(Yes, those same Santa Ana winds that fueled San Diego’s fires last week. Except when I was growing up, they weren’t hurricane-force winds but nice strong breezes. Thank you, global warming).

Anyway, growing up I wanted seasons — leaves changing in the fall, chestnuts over an open fire. I wanted to be able to wear a coat — a real coat — without sweating.

But now, seven years into my Seattle residence, I think I’ve used up the sun bank I built up in 21 years in California.

The last few Seattle winters have seemed so dreary. And this fall — what fall? Things went straight from August to November.

And yet, there is something in me that still appreciates seasons. Living in California, with its endless sun, felt not just boring to me, but empty. There’s something about struggling through a winter and then coming into those first days of spring that feels like nothing else.

I still like the changing leaves (even when they’re just being dashed to the ground by rain), getting out the box with my winter clothes, being able to drink hot tea every day.

I just wish things were a little more balanced. Maybe we could have a few more sunny days this fall? Just for contrast?

OK, I’m going to try to make the best of it. I’ve made a list of the things I can do this winter, indoors, when it’s drizzly and dark. Like ice skating, and museums. (You can see how much I’ve thought about this.)

And I’m thankful my parents’ house in San Diego is still standing, unscathed by the fires, a two-hour plane ride away. Because I think I’m definitely going to need to refuel my sun bank this winter.