I am now fully into my Dead of Winter self.
Coworkers ask me nearly daily, "Are you all right? You look as if you're going to cry."
Or they say, "You aren't yourself today."
To the first comment, I answer, "This is my January face."
To the second, I inquire, "Who am I?" and they only repeat the original observation.
I could tell them who I am: I am my Waiting Self.
All winter I wait.
I am just waiting, waiting, for Light to return.
My face apparently reflects that. I would never make a successful poker player.
Nobody says those things to me outside of work because when I am not at work I am asleep. I get home and take care of the dogs. If I'm ambitious, I provide some sustenance for Husband's consumption. Then I take off the makeup, get into my nightclothes and count the minutes until an acceptable hour to retire to . . . ahhh . . . my bed. My soft, cuddly bed.
This is the first winter that I have given myself over, as much as I have always wanted to, to sleep.
It is working for me. I am not wretched in mood and body, as I recall being in other years.
Before electricity, there was the habit of First Sleep and Second Sleep, and that makes a great deal of sense to me. The sun goes down: this human wants to sleep.
Hi 30 °F
Lo 12 °F
Hi 29 °F
Lo 11 °F
Hi 27 °F
Lo 8 °F
Hi 20 °F
Lo 3 °F
Hi 21 °F
It isn't warm that I miss so much, although I do love the summer-skipping-out-the-door-in-whatever-I'm wearing-or-not. All the same, isn't it kind and good of Mother Nature not to slam us from August temperatures into these "no higher than 30 . . . ever . . . into the foreseeable future" temperatures?
Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come. ~Robert H. Schuller