Nevertheless, nineteen.

  
No shortage of pics of Sarge doing the Superman, his favorite relaxation pose.
January and February are really tough months in Michigan. Maybe they are everywhere, but I’ve lived for short times in different climates and I don’t remember them being this challenging. The days are short, dark, and crushingly cold. It is a challenge to get enough sunlight or vitamin D or sleep (even though it feels like all I do is sleep). It feels like I see the inside of the same walls ceaselessly, grey car interior, beige work walls, fluorescent lights. I don’t want to work out or even work, for that matter. My productivity comes in short bursts and I feel depressed that I spend so much of my time flogging myself to do basic things that suddenly seem insurmountable. The thought of taking the trash out or waking up one more morning to shower and do my goddamn hair and go to the same place I always go to struggle to complete the same tasks makes me just want to throw something. 

The only lovely times of these unlovely days are the beginnings and the ends. The sky becomes electric and then translucent. For a moment, everything stands out in sharp relief against its pale opal light; the lacy silhouettes of bare branches and the lonely span of sagging electrical wires like looping careless songs. In the mornings there is the small stabbing light of faraway planets in the pristine dawn, and at night, it is the more crude violet of streetlights as they pop on one by one. The streets are dark and empty with arctic cold except the other night, when I stood at my bedroom window and watched a lone walker pace down the middle of the street, as though he was the only one and everyone else was dead or fled from an abandoned city. Out of nowhere, a sleek black shape darted out of the shadows down the block, loped gangly and otherworldly up onto the curb and across a driveway. The walker paused, uncertain. To continue? A fox or a coyote? Just a neighborhood dog? In such a winter, one can never tell. 

I’m trying to float with my biorhythms and not get too down on myself if it’s hard to work out, hard to say no to a 730 bedtime with a book. It’s like this every year and we will drift back to the light. 

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