the wild urge to hibernate

over two months into my newly re-established habit of getting outdoors in some form daily, and i’m running into a debate with my strong hibernation instinct. it’s WINTER, for crying out loud!! no respectable, sensible hibernating subspecies goes out for a walk in this! (‘this’ being a cold, windy, sunny day; if it were snowing, i’d be so out there. that’s different.) so, do i partially suspend the habit rules for hibernation months, and resume full operations at a more logical time, making exceptions for snow days? this is a rhetorical question. we will continue to debate it, while sitting at our warm computer. (‘we’ being the hibernator vs. the procrastinator, so not much contention there.)

now that i think about it, there is this one advantage to being an unemployed caregiver in the VOE: hibernation without the guilt. any self-respecting hibernator would do the same, with no qualms. when i recall those endless decades freezing my ass off at work, wondering how sane people could live like that, it appears that i have gotten my wish. not exactly the way i would have fulfilled it, but it amounts to the same result. even farmers (remember those?) don’t work outside all winter. with their new technology, they virtually stay in climate-controlled conditions most of the time. when they have any work at all.

so i’m wondering if i need a more natural, organic approach, while i am in a position to implement it. one that works with, not against, instincts that are there for a reason. sane people used to use winter as a time to sit by a warm fire and conserve energy, with nice warm cozy drinks. now people race around on frigid highways, in a frenzy to hit the pricey gym and work off all the holiday fat. that seems backwards to me. but in a world of commuting to tedious cubicles year-round, i guess human instincts take a back seat to so-called reality. most people don’t have the luxury of just taking the whole winter off, nor do they normally exert themselves outdoors most of the year. our western world has become an artificial environment, so our natural instincts are no longer relevant, and go dormant. so-to-speak. (hibernation going dormant, is that oxymoronic? or a double-negative? or not nothing?)

i’m sure anyone reading this has already seen through my little ploy to distract you while i continue to sit at my warm computer, avoiding yet another cold, unnatural outdoor exercise. or, how about this strategy: i’m substituting writing of some kind for outdoor activity on very cold days. no, didn’t think so. still, more implausible things have happened. just suspend your disbelief, as you would with any improbable fantasy. it’s a discipline, like any other. writing inspiring treatises is hard work! eventually i will run out of pointless idle discourses and need to go air out. outside. in the cold. no wait, i feel another inspiration coming on…

cleverly, i suspect no one can honestly challenge my logic, without exposing their own record lapses! to them i say: QWERTY!!

still alive

here’s how i know i’m still alive and still myself: SNOW!

everyone else is huddling and shivering in their fortresses, and i’m out there transfixed, loving it. every time it snows, it’s like the first time. i’m a kid, grinning stupidly and inhaling it. nobody else here gets it, but whatever. even the vortex of evil is transfigured and purified by snow. and with my personal soundtrack in the background, it’s almost a different world.


old haunts

the dreams are really starting to get to me.  they used to be just flat-out nightmares, with demonic entities chasing me around, nuclear holocaust and death, the usual stuff.  now it seems the residual dementia in this house is seeping into my brain.  just below the surface of normalcy and order, there is this insidious chaos, to an extent i never realized.  it’s like, in waking life i just manage to keep things under control, whether it’s my surroundings or my mental state.  but in my subconscious mind, all hell has broken loose, and the orderly and predictable landmarks disintegrate out from under me.  i realize the stability was just an illusion, and the disarray was creeping in all along. 

then, waking to escape that surreality, i find that this one with its relative calm routine doesn’t reassure me at all.  instead of relief, i feel like one more layer of sanity has been peeled away, leaving me one step closer to succumbing to the atmosphere of dementia.  maybe as i clean out old closets full of medieval implements, it releases evil-fumes!  but i continue to try to organize my physical surroundings, in an attempt to ward off the feeling of coming unglued.  and that’s how a new year is ushered in, here in the Vortex Of Evil.  

meanwhile, out in the real world, the relentless facebook albums of holiday cheer and gift piles and feeding frenzies continue to pour in, making my petrified existence sound more scrooge-like than ever!  but i don’t intend it that way.  it’s just one more way it feels surreal, as it does when you come to a screeching halt while life moves on around you.  or maybe i’ll look back on this episode as a calm island in a raging flood, before being consumed.  

i wonder if this is how it all began for lovecraft…. i feel i should inject some blasphemous flopping fish-frogs from out of space/time or something, at this juncture.  alas, my melodrama is so much more mundane.   i’ve just about finished with the closet of horrors.  in the remotest part of it, i found old baby blankets and cloths in with the pure wool blue tartan blankets, dating far back into the last millennium.  (hey, it’s technically true, and sounds more impressive than just old.)  i’m sure more fumes were released into the atmosphere, if gagging and choking is any indication, but maybe it’s my way of beating ghosts into submission.  or at least their souvenir collections.


i am NOT resolving to write something every day. NOT!! it’s just a coincidence, two days in a row. history will prove me right. having said that…

this morning i dreamed that my father came back alive. he was tall, younger, and healthy-looking, but he was still demented and confused. he still didn’t understand why my mother was non-functional and i had to take over her jobs in the house. i tried to explain, but he just didn’t get it. then, in a gesture of reconciliation very foreign to me, i attempted to express affection toward him, since i had this second chance to overcome my aversion and resolve things once and for all. he was even more uncomprehending of this new development, and resisted. finally i just gave him a kiss anyway. he didn’t know what to make of that. neither do i, but there it is. not my usual kind of dream. a psychic tabula rasa, perhaps.

i’ve almost finished the ordeal of cleaning out the hall closet of horrors. a big manila envelope full of ancient, disintegrating flushable paper toilet covers… ‘sanitary protection for the whole family wherever you go’ ?! just—unbelievable. not as scary as the douche-bags, though! i found some mummified remains of something, not human. and that’s how i usher in the new year.

there seems to be a repetitive theme here, of giving the old baggage an enema. not too elegant, but probably true.

and there you have it, nyd in the voe.