I spent the first half of today wearing the top half of yesterday’s outfit. To boot, when I eventually changed today, I kept on the same scarf which I marks day four wearing said scarf.
I kinda want to hibernate.
Refuse to open the curtains, pull the two heavy afghans off the back of the couch and burrow down under their calming, warm weight, turn off the ringer (which I only have on for text messages right now anyway), watch HGTV on repeat kind of hibernation. Drift in and out of naps, throw the dog’s ball when she brings it, let boys sit on my feet (bonus foot warmers) as they read me jokes and chapters of books about dragons and ninjas, hold cups of warm tea in my hands and let the steam warm my face.
I don’t really want to run. Or walk. Or move out of my afghan and scarf cocoon.
That seems unfortunate seeing as how half marathon training begins in two weeks. I’m also planning to travel to visit my daughter. I need to paint Booey’s bedroom. I want to recover the seats on the chairs in the dining room. My library books were a month overdue. I’m forever behind on laundry, but it’s okay because I can wear the same thing I wore yesterday. Right?
It’s not so much that I’m depressed; I just kind of want to sit in one place for a long period of time. I want to hold tight to the ground beneath me, the soft cushions of couch, the sweet fur of my dog; I want to bury deep into the steady, sure things of my life, and breathe them in, so deep. Breathe them in, deep into my lungs, and hold them there until I feel like I might burst.
January, its harsh winds, keep pushing me back inside; inside the house, inside my blankets, inside myself. I want to watch movies; I don’t really like watching movies. I want to protect the things I’m thinking and feeling from the weather, from the winter, from the people who don’t really care.
I want to feel safe.
Winter feels full of uncertainty, of somehow-stuck-but-still-changing, of possibilities within reach, of fears pulling blankets back over my head. I want to write, but I don’t want to commit to words. I want to sing a song, but I don’t know the melody, let alone the harmony—the beauty making stuff. I want to dance, but I’m too afraid to move; the couch is safe, the house is safe, the inside of my mind is safe for the first time in years.
Maybe this is a time of growth, of introspection, of remembering to be gentle with myself, allowing time for stillness. Maybe now is not the time to force the words, but to let them take root. They will unfurl and bloom when they are ready, when the winter winds stop howling and the spring air warms the darker, hidden parts. The black and white and various tones of gray will turn to color when the light shines just right, when it’s time for the beautiful things to be seen in all their glory.
For now, I’ll pull the blankets tighter. I’ll write when I feel the desire. I’ll let myself be more me, hibernate, recuperate, breathe, heal. I see big things on the horizon. I’m okay taking my time getting there.