In the middle of Snowpocalypse, thoughts on February

I was putzing around today on the interesting and funny and aspirational website DIY Diva (as I do) and happened to read the following words, which caused me to feel a surge of fear and loathing:

“On the farm it feels like a new year starts in spring, and so January and February are basically… purgatory. I mean the holidays are over, it’s officially cold and dark out with no cheery Christmas lights to make you feel better about the fact that it’s cold and dark out. February is fast approaching, and anyone who has ever suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder knows that shit gets real in February.”

I find this time of the year so fucking difficult. I want to downplay how hard I find it to survive, but the truth is, during the darkest days, when everything is cold and gray, I think about death a lot. I ponder the Buddhist truths of suffering and impermanence. Some days I would like to lie down, go to sleep and just Not. Wake. Up.

And February is, as the DIY Diva says, when shit gets real. The shortest month, my ass. February is this Gloomy Gray Giant of a month. Every day takes about 43 hours, there is no sunshine, only rain (and sometimes snow) and mud. The only colors you see are gray/black/brown and a particularly despairing shade of green.

In February, it has always been cold and miserable, and is ALWAYS going to be just this cold and miserable… February has no energy, no drive, no zest. February lies in bed with the covers over its head, making little whimpering noises. February re-reads old books because it can’t concentrate enough to read anything new. February watches bad tv because it can’t be bothered to get up and find the clicker, which is probably hiding under the stale covers it’s been lying on for days. February eats bags of revolting Valentine’s hearts without really tasting them or enjoying them, just because they are they are there. February cries a lot, and sleeps a lot, and doesn’t want to take a shower.

So February, not my favorite month.

But (in this life, you’re on your own!) you have to get through it to get to windy March, full of change and possibility, and April, mixing memory and desire, to arrive at May…the true start of gardening season.

Behold, I am become a shredder of worlds

Yesterday and today I have been SHREDDING at work. After months of organizing this paperwork, and scanning every freaking page, I now get to DESTROY it. It's surprisingly satisfying. I have filled up four giant bags with my conshreddi.

It was 12 degrees F this morning when I woke up. Finally, we are getting some seasonally appropriate weather!

What a difference a day - and a haircut makes. Check out these handsome babies. That's Mocha on the left, and Frank the Tank on the right.

There is a time for every season under heaven

I started this blog years ago, because my friend Toni told me that she liked how I wrote my emails, and she wanted me to start a blog. Every time we talked, she said, "You should write a blog! I would read your blog!"

So, one day I looked into it, and started this. There's never been any point to it, I write about books, or movies, and my dogs, and things that I think a lot about. Sometimes I tell stories or relate how flabbergasting I find the news (I find the news VERY flabbergasting!).

Toni used to comment and we'd talk about what I wrote on my blog and what she wrote on her blog.

But since she died, I have mostly let this go by the wayside. It feels like A LOT of effort to keep a blog that nobody reads. If I was writing a diary, I could write completely personally, and that would be one thing. If I had a readership, and commenters, it would feel like more of a conversation, and I find that compelling and interesting. But sending my semi-public thoughts out into the ether to sit unread is pitiful and sad. It makes me sad.

So I will probably just continue this as a "now and again" thing as I have been for the last two years. So, until later!