winter

KC and I whistled on down to the airport to pick Shelley and MC up last night. We brought them warm coats and boots because they'd worn clothes for Cuba.

Driving back home, the four of us, Shelley talked about the approach to Cuba - over the Florida Keys, MC interjected, with that blue blue water - to the green green island surrounded by more of the same. Approaching Canada, what you see is grey. White and grey.

"Dun," I thought, but didn't say.

January was a fucking write-off. My god, that was the most miserable month I've had in a long time. A lot to do with D.Jack suddenly being gone, compounded by the fact that I was both a bit surprised and slightly worried by how big an effect his absence had on me. Compounded by the fact that hello, fucking Ottawa in the darkest month of the year, as dark as December without the memory of fall sun to bear you through.

What did I do? I knit a snake. I watched Mad Men. I ate the never ending containers of leftovers from my freezer. Most weekday mornings, I got up before 7 and did yoga.

I didn't write.

Waking up before 7 makes me irritable.

My anxiety was back too. I lost 5 pounds because that whir whir sits on top of my stomach and takes away my appetite.

I'm a little wiped out by January's vagaries, but now also feel more balanced than I have in a while.

When I left my house this morning at 10, the sun was warm on my cheeks and made my eyes ache.

First I was going to go to yoga with Grace. Then I was going to go to yoga myself. Then I listened to the weather and I was going to go to yoga myself, in my bedroom.

Now it is 8:05 and my body is telling me to skip even that and go to bed. I was going to write that my body is screaming, but that's a lie. It's too tired to scream. Instead, there's a constant murmur from the peanut gallery. "Lie down. You don't have to go to sleep. So what if it's 8 pm. You're tired. Just lie down."

There's no good reason not to, except for the list of 100 things I could be doing instead of sleeping.

Which is maybe why I can't get rid of the purple circles under my eyes.

In the middle part of my weekly food rounds (Bridgehead for soup/coffee/larfs with Michael and Adam, if I'm lucky enough to catch them; Herb & Spice for bulk, greens, eggs; Hartman's for the rest) I ran into Stephanie.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" she asked.
"Enh, staying home. I have a Pixies documentary to watch."

I felt slightly sheepish, because even though I think this is an entirely fine thing to accomplish with a Saturday night, it's not really, well, exciting. Unless you like the Pixies and don't feel like leaving your house. So I was pretty excited about it, but could see that from the outside, it might make me look, well, kind of boring. Like the kind of person who doesn't *do* things.

But seems her two band boy roommates are out of town touring a lot these days, and when they're gone, she, you know, finds herself at home alone, not going out. She seemed a bit sheepish, too, so we got to be a bit sheepish and also relieved to be sheepish together.

It's hibernating season, bright sun today be damned. I'm feeling slow in my words, in my body, my thoughts. I can only hope that after all this staying in and still there's something quick coming along.

The problem with being very proactive about getting rid of your worn out winter boots is that you really do need to replace them before there's a heavy snowfall warning and the heavens unload 10-15 centimeters of the fluffy stuff onto streets that you need to be walking on that very same day.

Not that I begrudge the snow. Like most people, I like this part of winter. And like dogs too, apparently. I took Shy Dog out for her constitutional this morning, to much delighted doggie frolicking. Since I was wearing itchy wool socks that made my not-so-warm leather boots pretty tight, I was not frolicking.

Boots. This weekend. I swear. I'll just pick some and buy them.