We have entered the days that I refer to as the slog. It's dark. The streetlights came on at 3:22pm Sunday. It's not always so early, of course, even now. That just happens when there is a thick cloud cover, which is only, say, 85% of the time. The trick is to not give in to the thought that since it is November I must feel crappy. If I can keep my mind open enough, I might be surprised.
My mind really just wants to sleep all the time, though.
The slog is usually something that I just want to get through. But I have devised a number of tactics to battle the slog this year. They range from the physical to the creative. Singing at the top of my lungs whenever the mood strikes me has not been ruled out (except maybe by Hijo). I hope there will be dancing. Coffee, of course, is a basic weapon, as is wandering about outside whenever there is not a gale force wind.
The thing to remember about the slog is that always ends. It is no more permanent than your first love or summer or your own life. Which may or may not be comforting.
The slog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
(apologies to Carl Sandberg.)
Posted by: biggerbox | 16 November 2010 at 06:32 PM
"Each November I break down and cry
But I can't remember if we said goodbye"-Steve Earle
My favorite song of all time for the time being.
Posted by: Jim | 16 November 2010 at 08:13 PM