I need to break free of my social dependence. Relying on others only results in getting hurt. Love? Trust? What of those? Elements of fantasy, they hold no bearings in the world of reality.
You abandon me. Every last one of you. In my time of need who raced over? Who came to the door armed with compassion and brandishing support? I stood alone. I broke alone.
Now I must stand
Alone.
I take comfort in knowing my strength of loyalty. But that comfort is overshadowed by my doubt in Humanity.
My folly lies in my own misplaced faith in others. I can blame but myself for my shortcomings. No soul promised me fidelity, no dusk promises dawn; it is assumed.
And in that assumption we die, cold in our abandon. Drowning in loneliness and sorrow, pressed beneath the weight of regret of unspoken words, you and I -not we- die alone.
To place confidence in another is to relinquish his faults and accept him for the one he truly is. When cowards dress as wolves we may as well cast our stones into our bowels, for to have one eat one’s words is bittersweet in victory.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Bracing for the Cold
It's a scandal to be indoors today, so I type this sitting as close to a sun-drenched window as possible.
Winter is closing in, slowly sneaking through doorjambs and permeating our jackets like a civet cat. I've been adding layers to my daily ensemble, from T-shirts and sweaters to thermal shirts, heavy hooded flannels, mittens, gloves, and scarves. Soon we will be experiencing the Turtle Days: when people bundle and layer all their clothing, tucking in their faces, hands, necks, and any other exposed body parts for fear of threatening bitter winds and sudden blasts of cold descending upon us from the pits and peaks of Evil. People tuck themselves inside a shell of wool, flannel, down, and anything else that may keep that precious body heat from escaping. Faces retreat behind fur-lined hoods, cable-knit scarves, fleece wraps, and the occasional ski mask. We may not see some people until spring. We shall learn to recognize our friends and acquaintances by distinguishing outerwear, "Dan has a red hunting hat with a burn hole from the bonfire last week. Laura has the black boots with the white polka-dots on them. The person inside the puffy down-feather coat with the brown hat is either Professor Liam or the girl who sits next to me in Biology." You never can be sure on Turtle Days.
Fortunately, today is one of those days where Mother Nature took pity on the state and decided to give us a fleeting glance of sunshine before we're forced to don our woolen armor and suffer the Gray Dome, where we lose the sun, the blue sky, and any hope of ever again being warm. Threatened by a Wind Chill Advisory, I ventured outside barefoot, in blue jeans and my pajama top, disbelieving such a blue sky could be harboring cold temperatures in its midst. As we all know, there's no better judge of how cold the weather is than your bare feet on concrete at 730 in the morning. Regardless, the Wind Chill Advisory lied, (an inaccurate weather report- such a shock, I know) as the morning, though chilly, promised to stay pleasantly mild, and well above winter-coat temperatures. I was more than a little excited.
I think some primal instinct felt this coming. As the weather changed, so affected was my mood. When the days were constantly gloomy, threatening snow (that blasted four-letter word) and wind at every turn, when the days got darker and shorter, my mood got darker as well. I was easily irritated, frustrated with everything, quick to judge and unsatisfied with myself, my life, and everything in it. Just before this beautiful rare day of days, my mood shifted. I was listening to different music, dancing around my apartment, laughing, wanting to go out, visit friends, meet strangers, find a park and go exploring. (Due to recent trail-attacks, my park visit has been placed on hold until I can find somebody to go with me.) Something inside me knew things would get better, and it calmed my brain and body enough for me to start enjoying life again. I hope I can get this feeling to stick around once the good weather stops.
I am not looking forward to winter. I find no joy in blistering cold winds, deep piles of sludge-covered snow, and falling on ice every few feet. I dislike shoveling my car out of snowdrifts, leftovers from plows, or the snow somebody else dumped from behind their car. Defrosting my car is not fun. Defrosting my hands and feet is not fun. That burning pins-and-needles tingle that my toes, legs, fingers, and ears endure is not a pleasant reminder that I was in the cold, but I am now, in fact, someplace warmer. Sledding, skiing, snowball fights, snowmen... these are all terrible terrible ways to spend the winter. How is careening down steep slopes with hardly any control or protection considered fun?What's fun about getting hard-packed balls of snow and ice launched at your face? What is fun about icy slush accumulating in the tops of your boots, the wrists of your coat, and the collar at your neck? What's fun about that slush melting to drip and wiggle to your already-cold feet and sending shocking waves of cold down your back? What's fun about layering all your jackets and sweaters to be warm outside, to come back in and peel them off in sweaty layers that pile up at the door because comparatively speaking, indoors seems volcanically warm? This is not winter fun.
Winter fun is roasting marshmallows over big cackling fires in stone fireplaces, wearing sweaters over turtle-necks, drinking cocoa and looking at the snow through window panes lightly edged with frost. Winter fun is playing board games late into the night with friends, then retreating to a hot shower and curling up under warm flannel print sheets. Winter is watching old home videos and laughing at that awful shade of lipstick, and languishing in the nostalgia. Winter is a time to get to know your friends and family again, to rediscover yourself. To spend time reading a book curled up on an overstuffed armchair, or to pull out the old vinyl record player and see if it will work again. I firmly believe winter is largely an indoor activity.
I must admit, there are the days when I dig through my closet for my beat-up old ice skates, or the days the pull of nature overwhelms my dislike of the cold. Winter hikes are amazingly beautiful, still, and sparking, with crisp air and the feeling of being connected to the silence around you. Beaches in winter are beautiful. The water is stronger, the air heavier, and without the conglomerate of beach goers and sun-seekers, a rather tranquil place.
Today is a gift, sun-drenched and coat-free, with colder days lurking just beyond the brilliant blue sky. I intend to enjoy today as a tribute to the warm days, and I hope to look to tomorrow as an invitation to experience the winter wonder, instead of loathing the winter weather. Wish me luck.
Winter is closing in, slowly sneaking through doorjambs and permeating our jackets like a civet cat. I've been adding layers to my daily ensemble, from T-shirts and sweaters to thermal shirts, heavy hooded flannels, mittens, gloves, and scarves. Soon we will be experiencing the Turtle Days: when people bundle and layer all their clothing, tucking in their faces, hands, necks, and any other exposed body parts for fear of threatening bitter winds and sudden blasts of cold descending upon us from the pits and peaks of Evil. People tuck themselves inside a shell of wool, flannel, down, and anything else that may keep that precious body heat from escaping. Faces retreat behind fur-lined hoods, cable-knit scarves, fleece wraps, and the occasional ski mask. We may not see some people until spring. We shall learn to recognize our friends and acquaintances by distinguishing outerwear, "Dan has a red hunting hat with a burn hole from the bonfire last week. Laura has the black boots with the white polka-dots on them. The person inside the puffy down-feather coat with the brown hat is either Professor Liam or the girl who sits next to me in Biology." You never can be sure on Turtle Days.
Fortunately, today is one of those days where Mother Nature took pity on the state and decided to give us a fleeting glance of sunshine before we're forced to don our woolen armor and suffer the Gray Dome, where we lose the sun, the blue sky, and any hope of ever again being warm. Threatened by a Wind Chill Advisory, I ventured outside barefoot, in blue jeans and my pajama top, disbelieving such a blue sky could be harboring cold temperatures in its midst. As we all know, there's no better judge of how cold the weather is than your bare feet on concrete at 730 in the morning. Regardless, the Wind Chill Advisory lied, (an inaccurate weather report- such a shock, I know) as the morning, though chilly, promised to stay pleasantly mild, and well above winter-coat temperatures. I was more than a little excited.
I think some primal instinct felt this coming. As the weather changed, so affected was my mood. When the days were constantly gloomy, threatening snow (that blasted four-letter word) and wind at every turn, when the days got darker and shorter, my mood got darker as well. I was easily irritated, frustrated with everything, quick to judge and unsatisfied with myself, my life, and everything in it. Just before this beautiful rare day of days, my mood shifted. I was listening to different music, dancing around my apartment, laughing, wanting to go out, visit friends, meet strangers, find a park and go exploring. (Due to recent trail-attacks, my park visit has been placed on hold until I can find somebody to go with me.) Something inside me knew things would get better, and it calmed my brain and body enough for me to start enjoying life again. I hope I can get this feeling to stick around once the good weather stops.
I am not looking forward to winter. I find no joy in blistering cold winds, deep piles of sludge-covered snow, and falling on ice every few feet. I dislike shoveling my car out of snowdrifts, leftovers from plows, or the snow somebody else dumped from behind their car. Defrosting my car is not fun. Defrosting my hands and feet is not fun. That burning pins-and-needles tingle that my toes, legs, fingers, and ears endure is not a pleasant reminder that I was in the cold, but I am now, in fact, someplace warmer. Sledding, skiing, snowball fights, snowmen... these are all terrible terrible ways to spend the winter. How is careening down steep slopes with hardly any control or protection considered fun?What's fun about getting hard-packed balls of snow and ice launched at your face? What is fun about icy slush accumulating in the tops of your boots, the wrists of your coat, and the collar at your neck? What's fun about that slush melting to drip and wiggle to your already-cold feet and sending shocking waves of cold down your back? What's fun about layering all your jackets and sweaters to be warm outside, to come back in and peel them off in sweaty layers that pile up at the door because comparatively speaking, indoors seems volcanically warm? This is not winter fun.
Winter fun is roasting marshmallows over big cackling fires in stone fireplaces, wearing sweaters over turtle-necks, drinking cocoa and looking at the snow through window panes lightly edged with frost. Winter fun is playing board games late into the night with friends, then retreating to a hot shower and curling up under warm flannel print sheets. Winter is watching old home videos and laughing at that awful shade of lipstick, and languishing in the nostalgia. Winter is a time to get to know your friends and family again, to rediscover yourself. To spend time reading a book curled up on an overstuffed armchair, or to pull out the old vinyl record player and see if it will work again. I firmly believe winter is largely an indoor activity.
I must admit, there are the days when I dig through my closet for my beat-up old ice skates, or the days the pull of nature overwhelms my dislike of the cold. Winter hikes are amazingly beautiful, still, and sparking, with crisp air and the feeling of being connected to the silence around you. Beaches in winter are beautiful. The water is stronger, the air heavier, and without the conglomerate of beach goers and sun-seekers, a rather tranquil place.
Today is a gift, sun-drenched and coat-free, with colder days lurking just beyond the brilliant blue sky. I intend to enjoy today as a tribute to the warm days, and I hope to look to tomorrow as an invitation to experience the winter wonder, instead of loathing the winter weather. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Baby Steps
12 steps from the door to the stairs. 39 steps down. 17 steps to the car. A step forward. Two back.
167 steps out of the garage. 82 to class. Elevator- 4th floor. 19 steps to class.
Step, step, step, step.
326 steps to lunch. 8 steps in line. Smile, thank you, have a nice day. Step away from the counter. Step back, step back.
7 steps to the trash can- Lucky me. 0 steps to feel alone.
Step on, step on.
167 steps out of the garage. 82 to class. Elevator- 4th floor. 19 steps to class.
Step, step, step, step.
326 steps to lunch. 8 steps in line. Smile, thank you, have a nice day. Step away from the counter. Step back, step back.
7 steps to the trash can- Lucky me. 0 steps to feel alone.
Step on, step on.
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