Fog

My, but it's hard to write anything other than sheer crankyness when I'm sick. I tried a few days ago, and came up with nothing other than fear and loathing, minus the copius drug-induced antics that that phrase implies.

It's grey and darkling out (I'm not even sure what darkling means, but I always imagined it to describe that state of half-dark where the light fades fast but imperceptibly so one minute you can see through sunglasses and the next you feel like a total dolt for wearing them), and there's snow.

I used to love snow. What am I saying - some part of me will always have a gleeful reaction to it. It always seems like a miracle, no matter how many times I see it fall and drape everything in soft layers.

My ritual with snow is generally to go for a walk in it, even if it's blizzarding out. With a nasty cold like I have this week, I probably oughtn't to, but the snow is coinciding with an apex of cabin fever, combined with massive annoyance at my neighbors for having incessant parties while I'm dying over here. They're weird, my neighbors - both extremely nice and extremely inconsiderate. Who parties with an open door, I ask you? And more importantly, who parties with an open door after you've asked them on many occasions to close it?

Bleh.

One of the many reasons that I am fed up to the eyeballs with being trapped indoors. We're not even going to talk about the fact that I haven't been able to ride since Tuesday. You see? No matter how gently I start out, I end up ranting about the state of my affairs.

I don't mean those kind of affairs, since those kind are completely nonexistent and have been since I stopped seeing summerboy in September.

I don't know what to make of anything at all, these days.

It's obviously a low point, and lately I can feel everything sliding to the bottom, like a bathtub drain running out of water.

So I suppose it's not just the cold making it difficult to blog.

I keep having sex dreams about past lovers, some recent and some distant, which is interesting given how little interest I seem to have in actual dating lately. I guess that part of me is only alive unconsciously at the moment.

I wonder what else is only alive unconsciously. I've spent a great many years ignoring everything I really want to do in life, because it seemed necessary to do that in order to get through the daily work of living, and now I am fed up with that. But I don't know how to change it, yet.

Who knew you could tread water in snow?