I’ve been sad these last few days. And unmotivated. I blame it on the weather. It’s been -27 C in the south Okanagan, colder than I’ve ever seen it here. In Edmonton, where I once lived, it’s currently -38 C, but with the windchill, it’s -52 C.
From my window, I can see the public library, where students often hang out on the patio. I don’t see any of them wearing gloves. One teen is wearing only a hoodie. Hardcore Canadians, all of them. Fashion before comfort. Don’t look weak in front of your peers. Even the stoic cyclists are still pedaling back and forth to work.
I can’t blame only the weather for my sadness, though. When I felt the blues coming on, I made the mistake of reminiscing. I brought out the box of old photographs and watched music videos on YouTube of my favourite songs from the 70s. What a blunder that was! Suddenly, I was deep in nostalgic despair.
I haven’t left my studio apartment in three days. And despite that the exercise mat is within easy reach, it’s been too much of a chore to pull it out, let alone actually exercise on it. Instead, I read novels, solved crossword puzzles, and took naps. I’ve read nearly 1,500 pages of words and completed 75 crossword puzzles. Both are addictions, neither as bad as drugs, alcohol, or overeating, but not harmless either.
I’ve had ideas for poems, and I’ve even noted some of the ideas in my journal with little pictures of lightbulbs to remind me, but I haven’t written any poetry. I’ve even posted poems every day, but I wrote those sometime in the last few weeks. They’ve just been sitting in the queue. Writing has seemed like too much of an imposition recently.
I woke up this morning after sleeping for nine straight hours, more sleep in a single night than I’ve had since I was an infant. It’s still bloody cold, well below zero, but I am determined to pull myself out of this funk. Before making my bed or putting on the kettle, even before I emptied my grumpy bladder, and before I could change my wishy-washy mind, I pulled out the exercise mat and did some pushups and sit-ups. Then I closed off all of the music video tabs on my computer and started the kettle.
To pull myself fully out of this despondency, however, I know that I must write. I just need to write anything. Just writing this sentence right now, I feel myself becoming more hopeful and cheerful. I will spend the morning writing, jotting drafts of poems in my notebook, and then later I will go for a walk, despite the cold. I’ll go to the used book store and then to the library.
Perhaps I have no nugget of wisdom to impart in my writing today, except: writing helps. Writing helps with so many things. Just getting thoughts and emotions down on paper, whether in a notebook, on a website, or on a napkin, is helpful. The practice sometimes provides clarity, but if not, it seems to always be a psychic and emotional release.