This cold is killing me. Well, not literally, but figuratively for sure.
Yes, I know I live in New York State and, yes, I know New York state gets cold in the winter. As I have lived here for over 75% of my life, I am well aware of the cold and it is no surprise it is here…again.
But the cold is hitting me harder this year than it ever has before. It is sapping all of my energy, motivation and much of my positive disposition. I am crankier, more tired, less tolerant, more uncomfortable and less interested in going anywhere, doing anything or seeing anyone. Much like the bears my preferred segment of the gay community takes its name from, I find myself hibernating more and more, barely finding the strength and will to get myself out in the morning to work. It doesn’t help that I spend the entire day in an office that rarely gets above 68 degrees, so I am cold all day and, by the time I haul my cold cookies out to my freezing car in the garage and head home, I am singularly focused on getting home, getting a fire going and getting under a blanket with dogs and hubby tucked in beside me. I don’t leave the couch all evening until it is time to go to bed. I resent the cold. I rage against it. I hide out from it under my blankets and refuse to expose myself to it.
This, of course, severely cripples my social life and my productivity. I have no interest in heading out into the cold again once I am home, and don’t even like opening my door to visitors, as it allows even more of the ghastly cold into my home. Chores screech to a halt and my house becomes so disorganized, disarrayed and downright dirty that I would be horrified if anyone were to see it. But cleaning and chores means being out from under the blankets and exposed to the awfulness that is cold drafts and unheated air and I can’t stand to be out in it.
I hate this. I hate that I feel so lackluster and lethargic. I hate that the cold seems to have grown in its severity and effect to the point that I cower from it and cringe at the thought of being exposed to it any more than absolutely necessary. I want to lash out at it…hurt it…make it go far away and scare it enough to ensure it will never return. I don’t like who I have become in the sub-freezing temperatures or what it has done to my life and inner luminescence. I hunger for heat…for sunlight and grass and leaves and birds. I want to walk to the mailbox in my shorts and tank top, to bounce through the yard in my bare feet and to feel the warm summer breeze on my skin late at night as I bathe in moonlight and commune with nature, au natural. I want to ride with the windows down and wipe the sweat from my brow. I want to see the handsome men strutting about, shirts be damned! I want to eat ice cream outside before it melts and splash about in a pool. I want to feel whole again and connect with others and clean my house and move about in the sun and warmth and remember what it feels like to be alive and glad for it.
Until then, I’ll be huddled under my comforter, dogs at my hips, husband in my lap and a roaring fire in my fireplace, scowling at the sound of the winter wind at my window and doors and cursing the frigid freezing air, shaking my fist in futile frustration that I did not choose a better, warmer place to build a life.