That’s the only way I can describe it. When I am cold, I am COLD, I have always been cold, and I cannot ever imagine being warm again. Cold is the state I live in eternally.
Ditto when I am too hot. I am going down in flames and it has always been just this fiery and it’s never going to anything less (or more) than miserably, sweatily, moistly HOT.
If I am in any kind of pain it just consumes me. I can’t ignore it and I feel that I have always hurt and that it’s going to go on forever. And forget the idea that suffering is ennobling. BS – suffering just makes me bitterly mean and hateful.
Whatever my current perceived reality is, I have a hard time looking through it, and remembering that things always change. I know this with my head and intellect, but my emotional immediate reactions to things tend to be strong, wholehearted, consuming…and stupid.
I was thinking about that this morning in the garden. I was out with the dogs, eating a carton of yogurt, wrapped up warmly to combat the unseasonably cool morning (39 freaking degrees F) and looking at my garden beds, which honestly, at this time of year, look…bad. And I thought, cue the dramatic music, “Ugh, this yard is ugly. It’s just horrible. Why can’t we ever have a nice looking yard? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee? Why doesn’t anything ever grow here? Why haven’t those peas and radishes sprouted? I am a failure at gardening; I have a black thumb, grump, grump, grump.”
As if, to me, this one early spring morning of cold, frosty weather was the actual daily state of our yard 365 days a year. As if I have not enjoyed flowers that I planted and eaten vegetables that I grew from seed. As if I have not sat in the yard on warm evenings, drinking beer and admiring the fertility of the garden.
In the middle of my little hissy fit, I started getting tickled at myself. The reasonably sane part of my mind was observing the grumpy Drama-Queen-tantrum part, and finding the whole situation absurd. Even though the peas aren’t sprouting (dammit), there are jonquils blooming and some of the woody perennials are showing signs of new green. It will not always be 39 freaking degrees in the yard. In fact, based on 20+ years in Baltimore, there are days coming in the not too distant future when I will yearn for 39 degrees with all my hot, sweaty self. And for all the cold, it was a beautiful clear morning and the dogs were having fun in the yard sniffing out signs of fox, and I am mostly healthy, and I had Greek yogurt to eat and a yard to eat it in.
So my inner Dramatist had another spoonful of yogurt and (ignoring the blank spot where the peas are not sprouting) admired how the yarrow was putting out new growth. Welcome, welcome to even the tiniest signs of spring!
Addition: On the walk today I met my friend Deana and was complaining about the lack of germination in my peas and lettuces, and she said not to worry, as soon as the weather warms up, things will start growing.