Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Wait… you don’t want tacos today? I thought you did. That’s fine. We can have chicken something. Or whatever. Um… what day is it, again? Oh, right. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Taco Chicken Tuesday. Wednesday. Friday. Saturday. Sund…Wait – what happened to Thursday? Did we even have Thursday?! Now I feel crazy…
I find once Christmas is all wrapped up, trimmings unpinned, boxed and re-stored for another year, there’s not a whole lot to look forward to. Just aaaaall January and aaaaall of February. And sure, my kids birthdays pop up during this time, and birthdays are fun enough, but then it’s just back to the Dead Of Winter. And there’s Valentine’s Day, if that semi-cheesey Hallmark Holiday counts, but it doesn’t really. It’s not as if you get the day off or anything, so… suck.
These are the days that mostly consist of just putting one foot in front of the other. I schedule drinks with these people or those… sometimes we have to cancel because it’s just too damned harsh to deal with life outside. There’s the tres serene scene at my neighbour fox’s hot tub, available more often than not, but then it’s wrestling with the notion of ditching one’s big brown parka, and sauntering twelve paces from her back door to the tub, wearing only a bikini, a toque, and hugely ugly Sorels in the -20 temps. (Can you picture it? It IS a hot look… but still. You don’t want to catch a chill in the down-there place. *womp-womp*)
Sometimes I’m okay at dealing with the doldrums, but other days…
I had such a horrible tantrum last week, and I screamed at the kids too much, and was even reduced to tears once or twice (okay, maybe all day) because UCH! WHY? WHY?? WHY IS IT SO MUTHERFUCKING COLD ALL THE TIME??! E’SPLAIN!!! And I do myself no favours – I don’t get enough exercise, or drink enough water, or eat enough citrus, or get enough vitamin D. Or vitamin C. Or vitamin A. Or vitamins EFGHIJK, I’m so totally sure. I should go eat an orange and sit myself under some lamps or something. I’d go yoga or whatnot, but I can’t quite see my way to unzipping my fucking coat just now.
And the days go by, one by one, all looking and feeling exactly the same. What day is today? And we’re inside the house looking at the same walls, same clothes, same stuff… the cold makes it hard to want to go out anywhere. And after said Christmas and back-to-back birthdays for children, one’s wallet feels extra light indeed, so even deciding to bundle up and go somewhere feels costly in all the ways. Frostbitten fingers and noses. Visa cards on fire.
I’m being a bit myopic, I know… I’ve have some good times hanging out with my cool people now and then, and I’ve got a friend coming to visit next weekend (yay!) but it’s not at all like during the good weather months when I’m with my people every day, feeling the sun on my skin in the park, watching the kids run amok. Nay, these days are the polar opposite of those. (POLAR, yo.) Boo. Hiss!!
. . .
His mother’s funeral was over two months ago now, and though we talk about all of those feelings less and less, it all still hangs in the air, like a fat silence that we’re too tired to address. Still a bit… shell-shocked, maybe. There’s not much new to say about it anyway, so we’re quiet. With each other. So quiet, inside our same walls and same clothes and same meals and just putting one foot in front of the other, waiting out the winter.
There are moments when conversations feel more lively and interesting, as we discuss an article we both read, or something Bill Maher said. And we laugh at the funny parts of this movie or that. And then there’s retirement-strategy chit-chat that makes my eyes roll into the back of my head in that really unsexy way, and remember we need to register the small one for school this fall. And then some quip about free love comes up, and the next thing you know, this lady is lying awake all night wondering What. The. Fuck. and booking a waxing appointment the next morning to rip every bit of hair off her body. Because everyone knows the secret to a long, happy marriage is hairlessness.
And of course, that free love comment was totally innocent and glib, and I only ran with it because it stuck out so sharply against the flatness of tax-talk and blah-blah-blah renovation projects that totally harsh my mellow. And because my brain is frozen these days. As is the rest of me, because HAI, I’m hairless now.
Last week I had a tantrum and I cried about many many things. I stamped my feet and cursed the cold and the full moon and the harshness of winter until he painted a wall for me. (Of course, this sounds so simple – I could have painted it myself, but he did it for me anyway. Silently.) Because sometimes you can only rage at the one who is nearest to you. And I wasn’t even a little bit sweet about it. (Man, winter is really not my season.) Martin is good people, and last week I did NOT deserve to be married to such goodness. I mean, really.
But…
Now there is something new to look at while we’re being quiet, and I am busy contemplating how to dress it up and make it truly excellent.
A little bit of black paint? This unharshes my mellow.
Namaste, bitches.
G.G.
