Translation : Holy shit, it’s snowing!
Yup! We got the white stuff, baby! There is snow on the ground here on the Wet Coast.
Silly me, for no logical reason I figured that if real winter(tm) had not shown its frosty face by Christmas, we wouldn’t see it at all this year.
Clearly, Mother Nature had other plans. Glad I don’t have any and can remain safely indoors until it is time for Denny’s on Sunday.
Snow is always at its prettiest when you know for certain you won’t have to go out in it.
The cold, I could do without, though. Because there is definitely a draft in this here bedroom of mine. I know this because every time it gets windy, it gets really fucking cold in here.
To the point where even after I got dressed this morning, I still felt very cold. So cold, in fact, that I had to truncate my usual time spend hanging with the fuzzies so that I could go back to bed and get back under my comforter to warm up again.
I should not require thermal protect in my own damn home. Grr.
Once more, I contemplate getting some thermal tape and going draft hunting. Of course, here on the Wet Coast, they’ve never even heard of thermal tape, so I would have to order it online.
The problem with that is this big wonderful window directly in front of me and behind my computer desk. Drafts mostly come from windows and this one’s a doozy, and with my computer desk in the way it’s hard for me to reach most of it.
Ergo what I need is a caulking gun with a reaaaaaly long nozzle. Like around six feet.
More seriously, I would have to pull the desk back far enough that someone (not me, legs don’t work) could get in there and seal the whole thing up properly.
I swear, I have been way colder living on the Wet Coast than I ever was growing up on Prince Edward Island because my late father knew how to insulate the house for the winter.
On this coast, people have no fricking clue.
Luckily, it has warmed up during the day, at least. But it’s still too cold in here. My hands, in particular, are very sensitive to the cold, and I would hate to have to try to type with gloves on.
I have the heat turned almost all the way up in here and I am still freakin’ cold. And I am not feeling any heat coming from the heaters in the room so I am thinking my thermostat is fucked.
So I am going to have to bury the dial, even though when I have done that in the past the place hav ended up TOO hot and I have ended up all dehydrated and ill.
But I can’t very well stay in bed all day.
I had enough of that in the hospital. Turns out that it’s really not good for someone with circulation issues like yours truly to lie in bed for too long, because when I finally got up after three days in bed, I felt incredibly dizzy and weak and sort of when your hand falls asleep, but for my entire body.
It made me doubt whether I was actually healed up yet or what. Before I got up, I had felt great. Totally ready to go home. But after… not so much.
More after the break.
“The government has no right to tell me how to raise my kids! ” said the pedophile.
That god damned Trog
Let’s talk about that diseased side of me I call the Trog.
That’s the part of me that just wants to crouch in its deep dark fetid cave and hide from the worldf and all its frightening stimulation forever.
All so it can feel “safe”.
If it had its way, I would never do anything. I would just stay in bed under the covers all the time, in total darkness and silence, and just enjoy being “safe”, I guess.
The Trog is too mindless and primitive to have an endgame in mind.
You see, to do anything after achieving such low stimulation “bliss” would be to move in the direction of greater stimulation, and that is unthinkable.
That is the stange and twisted world view of the Trog. Luckily, it has never completely gained the upper hand. A certain amount of life spark remains within me and it can still impel me to get up and use Mister Computer here, as well as get food and go to the bathroom.
And most of the time, I can overcome my inertia long enough to go hang with J&J and watch Colbert and whatnot, or do a Zoom with Le Gang and watch random stuff.
So I have that much wiggle room against the damned thing. But it pretty much rules the rest of my life, and that sucks.
It’s what keeps me from expanding my sad little world beyond what I just listed. It is both caretaker and enforcer for that terrible chill that freezes the life out of me when I even contemplate escape.
It is the primary necromancer of my undeath.
And I hate it. I mean, that fucker really has to go. I will never get anywhere with it around.
But maybe that’s the point. Maybe, like the walls of my cold stone prison, the whole point of the Trog is to keep me from having to face that big bad scary adult world out there which, deep down, I am sure will utterly destroy me if I go out to face it.
But it will only kill the me that I am right now. And that’s just a costume my true self, the one who has always answered to my name, has been wearing for a long time.
It’s not real. It’s merely a mask, a disguise, another one of my many illusions. I can give that up and still be me, no problem.
In fact, it is starting to seem like a pretty good idea.
Farewell, chrysalis. Hello, you big bright beautiful world, you.
Time to leave this pathetic charade behind.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.