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Monday, February 9, 2015

Yet Another Lousy Post About Winter

The grayness…

I look around, note the frozen hipsters on the bus (once their skin goes black, there’s nothing to do but mash them up and make bread with them).

I bemoan the cuts on my hands where I’ve carelessly run their dry knuckles against the hard-edged corners of the month of February.

I absentmindedly count the layers of clothing I am wearing (fully 8 pieces more than in, say, August).

And I sigh.

Winter has its boot on the back of my neck. 

I think back, fondly, to summer.  My memories have developed the soft-focus affect of a dream, just moments after waking.  June.  July.  I don’t remember wearing shoes then.  And I recall stepping outside – now get this! – without putting on a hat

Who goes outside without wearing a hat?

From the deepest, most humid parts of my brain, the squat bald man in my head slides his pudgy, dimpled hands against each other gleefully.  The smell of smoke accompanies him.

Where did he get those cigarettes?

I close my eyes.  I hate when he smokes in there.

“Why don’t you,” he says, “call in sick a couple days?”  He takes a drag of his Pall Mall, blows the hit toward my left ear.  “We’ll get drunk,” he says, “and rub our dry little hands over our tubby little middles, see what shakes loose.”

As if to illustrate, he runs his hands over his own belly.  His cigarette, badly in need of ashing, dangles from his lips.

I turn away. 

“Come on,” he says.  “We’ll do Stupid Human Tricks.”  He pulls his tee-shirt up – the one that says “I’m Not a Doctor, But I’ll Take a Look” – pats his head with one hand, rubs his gut with the other.

I sigh.

The ash from his cigarette falls, wiping out most of second grade.

I blink slowly.  I didn’t need those memories, anyway.

The squat, bald man in my head takes another pull from his cigarette – “squares”, he calls them – and closes his left eye, peers at me with the right.  “So what’re you going to do about it?”

I sigh again, something I’m thinking of taking up competitively.  “I have a sick day planned for March,” I say.

The squat, bald man in my head spits into my memories of the seventh grade Sadie Hawkins dance.  “You’ve planned,” he says, horrified, “a sick –“

He can’t finish.

“I’m going to make meatballs this weekend,” I offer, feebly.  “That’s kinda fun…”  The word “fun” is barely out of my mouth before it plops, sullenly and without pretense, to the floor.

The squat, bald man in my head can take no more, and from somewhere far to the back, near the id but really not that far from the escalator, I hear a door open.

“OK,” he shouts, “I can’t hang out here listening to this kind of drivel.  If you need me, I’ll be back here, setting fire to stuff.”

And the door slams shut. 

February.

18 comments:

Shelly said...

Maybe you can replace the squat little bald man with a mouthy grackle. Might liven things up...

vanilla said...

One way to cope with February: commune with the squat bald man in your head. Whatever works.

Al Penwasser said...

I so look forward to complaining about the heat and humidity in August.
I left word that Mrs. Penwasser is to smack me in the head when I do and say, "What the hell is wrong with you??"

Delores said...

That`s the grand thing about aging....time goes faster. We find ourselves saying things like, `wasn`t it Christmas just yesterday? and, "I can't believe it's mid February already." As for that squat bald man in your mind...well...the hard part about aging is that you start to look like him.

Yamini MacLean said...

Hari OM
That planned sick day is Marching forth a-haste... let him burn... YAM xx

sage said...

I am glad I don't smoke, otherwise I might have thought you were describing me... You may hate me, but it was 70 here in coastal Georgia yesterday. Sadly, there were a few gnats out.

jenny_o said...

But ... but ... February is so full of chocolate, Pearl. You need to buy some V-Day goodies now while the selection is good, then buy some more before V-Day because the first stuff will be gone, then buy some on sale after V-Day and then, why, then it will be nearly March!

Catalyst/Taylor said...

That Jenny-O gives the best advice. It was 70 here in the Arizona highlands yesterday, too, Pearl. Valentines Day aside, February truly is the cruelest month. (In Minnesota.)

ThreeOldKeys said...

I've seen people get through February by sighing as they browse through seed catalogs.

Personally I prefer sighing while nibbling the aforementioned chocolate.

Either way, it's training for your new competitive hobby.

Elephant's Child said...

I really hate it when the characters in my head can't even be polite to me. Or nice...

Joanne Noragon said...

Why don't weather fairies ever go to Minnesota? Or Ohio? We need them most.

Starting Over, Accepting Changes - Maybe said...

Replace the short squat man in your head with Channing Tatum. You deserve that Pearl.

River said...

I'm with Delores! It's the middle of February already? What happened to January? Did we have January or did we skip here straight from New Year's Eve?

maurcheen said...

Oh winter...I even wear my hat/s indoors. And a beard... I have a beard now. Am I a hipster? Can one be a hipster approaching 54? Bring me sunshine. ;-)

Xxx

maurcheen said...

Oh winter...I even wear my hat/s indoors. And a beard... I have a beard now. Am I a hipster? Can one be a hipster approaching 54? Bring me sunshine. ;-)

Xxx

Jo-Anne Meadows said...

Damn you are so funny

chickensconsigliere said...

I seen that Dude. Or someone like him. I like how Fun drops without pretense to the floor, not mention mashing hipsters into bread. Glad to see the cold hasn't dulled your mad skillz.

Daisy said...

You would have laughed at the face I made when I read the part about the hipster bread. :) As for February, I am quite finished with it. It can go along on its merry way anytime now.