Tuesday, January 26, 2010

I Still Reserve the Right to Complain

Work work working through winter blues.
We all gain we all lose.

Everyone's parents grow old.
Everyone gets lost or dumped on some way or another.
Everyone seeks to escape something, sometimes.

I want to be off doing god only knows.
I want to be the reel to reel, the projection on the old sheet, the lawn chair, the heavy stars, and the cold drink.

I want it to be my own real life.
I could be born again.
And again.

I want to throw a party
where everyone dresses up fancy.
and then puts on their sneakers
and jams to Paul Simon
and drinks just enough.

I want to go back to the ocean.

Everyone is trying to find
Things that make them feel.
I mean really feel.
Feel like moving forward.

Winter pauses all that. The growth is gone. The potential is there but you can't get to it through the ice and the cloudiness in your brain.

I always feel like moving.
In the winter it feels like I have strings attached to all my joints.
I can move a little, but not enough to satisfy.

ReCreates all the things that I want to leave alone.
Once I get squirrely, I become worrisome and anxious.
I start doubting all my constants. I start doubting myself.
I feel utterly contained in some kind of drab monotony.
All this from a season?


See, the thing is winter ends, and I know that. It always does. So why does it get me every year?
Why winter? Is it really that different?
Why does that note of hopelessness strike me so hard when the thermometer is below 30 degrees?
There's always the weight, but it's made lighter by the freedom of the loosening of boundaries.
The changes in store. The whoosh of seratonin. The magic of a warm night.

I'm impatient, and that's probably what gets me.
Oh yes, digging my hands in the dirt, I can smell it.
Side stepping the slugs, I can feel them.
Closing your eyes to block the sun, I can still see it.
Riding my bike as fast as I can, oh yeah.

I'm a fish gliding through the water. A lightening bug flitting through a dark night. These things, we don't do well in the cold. Why can't I hibernate and emerge sometime in March like a fatty Monarch. Maybe in a way I do, but the wait, oh the wait.

So I wait, instead of doing.
I'm in my little deep freeze.
Waking up, sloooowly.

Okay, I feel a little better already. Gettin it out. Listening to more music. Right, that's what this blog is for:

I'm sitting by a window trying to absorb whatever sunlight will eek through. I'm listening to music that makes me feel inspired. I'm thinking. This is what I want to do and this is what I want to say and this is what I want to feeel. And why didn't I push play before or call these people before AND THEN enough with the why and the how comes ...

I can't do anything about the seasons or control life outside my own actions. Change is always happening I got to roll with it, the good the bad and the blustery.

I suppose I should do some studying now.


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