Posted by: M.C. | 1 February 2011

White Season

It’s snowing here. The sky is a blank white that melds with the earth in the distance, and flakes keep blowing and twisting and drifting their way to the ground. They tell us that this afternoon a blizzard will arrive—the latest Storm of the (Young) Century—but I can’t get myself to care; I seem already to be in hunker down mode, buried in drifts of tasks and plans. I should make a “to do” list, but I keep putting it off because I know that then I’ll have to actually do what needs doing. I’ll be able to approach my work systematically, which means that my excuse of being overwhelmed and confused and not knowing where to start will evaporate.

Maybe what I feel is nothing more than winter’s weary hold on me, the hazard of returning to the so-called temperate zone after a decade of living in the subtropical Southwest, though after two years here now, you’d think I would begin to acclimate. But it may be that some of us are born to certain geographic spaces. I can live here, but these inevitable dips in mood literally come with the territory. Years ago, as a college undergrad, I could always manage to get through the fall semester, but January and February of the second semester always derailed me. Or it may be that I have hit one of those spots in my life where enough things are “off” to enough of an extent that that I’ve lost my bearing for a bit. Maybe I’d feel the same even if I were wandering sweat-drenched under the canopy of a rain forest, or staring from a beach out over the Caribbean.

In any case, I know the antidote: I need to return to the old routines, or invent new ones. I need to clear some space.

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Responses

  1. I would like to test this theory by going to a beach in the Caribbean and seeing if we both feel better then.

    Excuse me…off to go rob a bank now to pay for our research.


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