I wanted so badly to call this “The Season of the Nap”, but I’d be lying to myself because I take naps regardless of what season it is.
There’s something about single digit temperatures and exceedingly bad weeks at work (the details of which I cannot, and wouldn’t want to, go into here) that come together and make me want to hibernate forever. Take today as a strong example. Work happened in the most glorious, horrible, unfortunate way any work-day could. Lousy, near-but-not-quite white-out conditions started up before my drive home, during which I slid down most of the one bridge-hill that makes up part of 17th Street (who thought this was a good idea, because it was the opposite of a good idea), and my nap that I shouldn’t have taken (I admit this) left me feeling worse than before I went to sleep. However, I’m still writing words on my blog so I feel validated in my decision to go forward with this Hundred Days of Blogging 2.0, before I start work on a new short story idea.
I actually considered updating my LinkedIn account because that’s how unmotivated I am to focus on creating stories right now. I have a novel-in-progress, multiple novels on hold, and several short story ideas that deserve attention. The litter boxes also require my attention, but there has never been a point when I sprang from the comfort of my chair to take care of such a chore. Anyway, here we are. With me not giving a single damn about tonight. Harrumph grumble complain.
How do you folks deal with nights like this one? Or do you just accept that the Winter infects all it touches with the bitterness of its icy tendrils, wrap yourselves in blankets, and refuse to emerge until the warmth of Spring?
At some point, through some cruel twist of fate, it has officially become winter. I know. Shocking that the weather has taken a turn for the cold and disappointing in January of all months. Today was the first day of my favorite multi-month event, the Fishtailing of the Cars. My lovely little black Toyota handles snow pretty well in the sense that it usually doesn’t go three different directions I don’t want it to before correcting its course.
I had a post planned about how things didn’t go quite according to plan in regards to my more writing, more reading, less naps, etc., plan, but there’s something about this weather that makes me want to curl up underneath a thousand blankets deep within a pillow-fort (note to self: find a way to build a pillow-fort that incorporates the TV; only leave the living room for food and bathroom use) and slumber until the first signs of summer are upon us. It’s supposed to be eight degrees or less tomorrow, which is at least twenty degrees colder than should ever be acceptable.
The bigger problem, at least for me, isn’t the cold or the snow, or even my inability to cope with weather conditions I’ve been exposed to my whole life living in Pennsylvania (the keystone to the frozen wastes of Northrend). No. My biggest conundrum is how this cold weather, with its oppressive chill, saps me of any energy to really use anywhere (beyond the aforementioned cover-cocooning). It becomes a vicious cycle of frustration over not accomplishing much only to realize that it’d be a lot easier to meet goals if I didn’t feel borderline comatose thanks to trudging through this dreadful cold to and from work…all ten feet of parking lot that I need to walk, at any rate.
However, that’s not to say I don’t realize I need to brew up some tea or cocoa (or perhaps just a hot toddy, but probably not since I want to actually be coherent while writing), sit my partially-frozen ass down, and get back to writing. I’ve got a notebook of ideas, more notebooks practically begging for ideas, and a relatively new Moleskine pen that is powerful enough to make me push past my typical distaste for handwritten notes and the likes.
To my fellow creative types, in whatever partially iced-over dwellings you find yourselves in: how are you coping with this polar vortex horseshit? What tricks and tactics are working best to help keep the creativity thawed?