Show Me Where it Hurts
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Going to work today was rather surreal; rather than facing biting cold and gunmetal gray skies, I was awash in a light 70-degree breeze and sunshine.
Sunshine.
Now, I’ve gone three months without “Cabin Fever” or “Seasonal Effective Disorder” or whatever –and for a guy riddled with weird phobias and neuroses, that’s pretty damn good—but today I was a little overwhelmed by it all.
I was suddenly made aware of how sick I am of winter.
The fact that I did not put the words ’this year’ anywhere in that sentence is not an accident.
A great deal of the day was spent sort of playfully daydreaming about the logistics of just 'packing it in' and going West. In fact, my helplessness against this strange preoccupation only further distressed me; this isn’t really about the weather at all, is it? I’ve been here for seven of winters in a row, and this one was certainly among the milder.
What is impelling me to consider leaving someplace I’ve been pretty damn happy for so long? What soured this earth? Is it something innate telling me it’s merely time once again for a change in landscape? A ‘sense of adventure’? I love this place, this job, the people; these have been the best years I've ever had.
But everything just seemed so colorless, barren and flat in that sunny, warm luster ...
[LOBO]
Going to work today was rather surreal; rather than facing biting cold and gunmetal gray skies, I was awash in a light 70-degree breeze and sunshine.
Sunshine.
Now, I’ve gone three months without “Cabin Fever” or “Seasonal Effective Disorder” or whatever –and for a guy riddled with weird phobias and neuroses, that’s pretty damn good—but today I was a little overwhelmed by it all.
I was suddenly made aware of how sick I am of winter.
The fact that I did not put the words ’this year’ anywhere in that sentence is not an accident.
A great deal of the day was spent sort of playfully daydreaming about the logistics of just 'packing it in' and going West. In fact, my helplessness against this strange preoccupation only further distressed me; this isn’t really about the weather at all, is it? I’ve been here for seven of winters in a row, and this one was certainly among the milder.
What is impelling me to consider leaving someplace I’ve been pretty damn happy for so long? What soured this earth? Is it something innate telling me it’s merely time once again for a change in landscape? A ‘sense of adventure’? I love this place, this job, the people; these have been the best years I've ever had.
But everything just seemed so colorless, barren and flat in that sunny, warm luster ...
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