Winter starts acting up, being a prig, going all Al Qaeda causing car wrecks and all in the valley. It’s not an apocalypse but a damn inconvenience, and a test of our survival skills. Like putting on chains or cooking those items in the back shelf, or maybe just cooking in general, firing up the old stove rather than relying on the local food joint as the source of all nutrition. You might even go for a walk but probably sear your retinas with glutinous Netflix consumption.
It’s a time of self realization. That spending hours without agendas and errands causes an illness known as cabin fever. To actually be with yourself and loved one’s in a central location diagnosis’ a fever. The slowing pace of winter does not coincide with our need to be detached from oneself. What exists in us is an unrest that is pronounced during periods of downtime. “Quiet desperation” that may be ambient background music when the wheels are spinning in daily life yet take on a few brass instruments, and electric guitars when the planner opens up.
Old man winter wants us to stop skateboarding and being punk kids. To hell with that. There are plenty of substances to abuse, sexual encounters, and reckless snow activities to do.
The duty bound adult life masks the same perplexity that the drug addict anesthetizes. Either way man I got to escape this feeling.