Tucked in the pages of three books.
Tucked in my bed well past the time I woke up, stretching, lazing, two days a week.
Outside playing in the snow x 2.
Taking the occasional photo.
Inside keeping warm while watching the snow x 4.
Behind the wheel of my car driving by the river, when it wasn’t snowing, enjoying the bare brown trees on snow-covered banks.
Tapping hundreds of words on my keyboard to a Mozart background for six hours on one Sunday.
Writing by hand on college-ruled looseleaf.
Sharing written words with other writers at least once a week over Zoom.
Sitting at the desk doing all kinds of adulting — ordering groceries, paying bills, etc.
Tidying so many things, including inboxes and closets.
Planning an overnight trip within driving distance but deciding against it since planning, data evaluation to determine risk, figuring out how much food to bring, et al, took all the fun out of it.
Doubling down on self-care since I apparently finally hit The COVID Wall.
Scouring sites trying to figure out vaccination for at-risk people and eventually myself.
Cursing the Commonwealth for its incompetence during its vaccine rollout.
Baking banana bread from scratch.
Watching things that make me laugh.
Spending copious amounts of time in Walnut Grove with Laura and the Ingalls fam and thanking all things holy I live in an age with motorized cars because horse-drawn wagons taking three days to get to the nearest big city is insane. Also, would it be wrong to retroactively punch Nellie Oleson?
A lot of people I know disappear during summer, buzzing from one activity to the other as the days get longer and hotter (i.e., sleep-interrupting bright and sweatier). I, oddball and OK with that, disappear in winter, my favorite time of the year. So that’s where I’ve been — in cozy quiet hibernation doing things I enjoy.
As the end of winter nears, I begin to reemerge, dreading what’s ahead but thankful for my room-darkening curtains and the circled November date on the calendar reminding I get my soon-to-be-stolen hour back in autumn.
As the beginning of the end of COVID starts to emerge, I’m happy to report I’ve found my real pants, los pantalones, not worn in a year. Do they fit? Sure. As long as I don’t sit down. The bright side to my upcoming least favorite time of year: outside will be brighter later and warmer as the days go by. Time to take those pants for a walk. Well, when spring officially arrives — I have a few more weeks of cozy hibernation to go.
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