Winter Wasteland

When I woke up this morning, bright sunlight streamed in through my windows. The kind of sunlight that doesn't reach Sweden until late Spring. The risers release more heat than could be needed in a blizzard, so I sleep with my window open, and cool air slowly travels up my legs as I stretch and yawn to what looks like a beautiful day.

But the sunshine is deceptive. My body still reels with the misery of late winter in the blood, streaming slowly through my system and turning my soul apathetic. I spend my days working and watching television, going to bed early because what else could I be doing that matters? Sitcoms providing relief from thought, relief from Life, and when I realize that, it makes me nothing but sad.

In the back of my mind, a calm voice reminds me that this is January, this is what it does. Acceptance floats around like a word that wants desperately to be snapped up, sometimes crossing paths with Patience. But the rest of me pays little attention. Reality unbearable, I want nothing but to flee. I stare blindly at the Hudson, and dream of a 19th century fixer-upper in the country, of unpaying farm jobs in Australia, of driving across America until I was done and settling there. I imagine I could be happy there. But more likely is that Reality would catch up there, too.

And then what do I do? Can I keep on running, forever? I'm so tired, already.