Thursday, March 6, 2014

Hibernating Groundhog Mama Bear Sloth Being

Oh my GODS this winter.
Damnable, interminable, insufferable fucking winter.

My mind feels as muted as the colors under the retreating crust of snow. It lends itself to the grayed-out numb type of depression. It's a mild boredom that's actually a wild improvement over the shaking, stinging-tears mess I lived through last month. That was pure chemistry, an adverse reaction to a change in antidepressants. I complained to my doctor that my anxiety was increased back in January so she switched my SSRI to a drug that inhibits re-uptake of both seratonin and dopamine. I've tried them before with little success but they can often improve pain levels along with mood, so I wanted to give them another go. For several weeks I was fine but the week of Valentine's Day I crashed hard and ugly. Several days into the breakdown I realized it was my medication and when I switched back I leveled out very quickly.

Precious doodle from High Fat Fitness
Now I've regrouped and feel a normal amount of winter ennui. It's almost a contented feeling, though there's a heaping ton of cabin fever in the emotion-soup. I've been sore as hell this week too, so that nicely justifies being a television zombie. We bought a large new HD flatscreen smart TV in a tax refund splurge, and it's been thoroughly loved. I'm boring myself to death, though, and it's way past time to turn off the passive screen and throw down some verbiage. I have to dig out of the dead weight that settles in my brain when I stop creating, and that always feels like dragging myself uphill. Creative binges and fallow times both have a self-sustaining inertia.

But the light is coming back to my world, and that always reignites my mojo. I'm starting work on sketches for an Earth Day art show at my friend Nik's Apartment Earth in April and just committed to write 30 minutes daily with my lovely soul sister Gabi. She writes in the evenings but I'll probably work when Shane and Molly head out. The time alone is a treasure that comes with my body struggles, and I've got to start taking better advantage of it. My birthday's approaching and I'm feeling cranky about my age for the first time ever. I'll be thirty eight and I feel regretful that I haven't done more. More drawings paintings writing everything. I know it's useless and potentially harmful to get stuck in that perspective, so I'm being mindful to redirect my attention to the present when those ideas come up.

Writing this out is wholesome and steadying and satisfying.
Shaking off a dusty soul, clearing a fogged-over window.

It's all okay.
Time moves forward, snow melts.
Spring comes, clocks change.
It's all happening.

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