“Beauty, old yet new, eternal voice and inward word”
It sure is cold, they say, just plain, miserable cold. They say another storm’s gonna roll through here, that come afternoon, some snow’s gonna fall and then, you know, it goes from there. And it’s March for Christ’s sake and haven’t we had enough? And when will it ever end? They used to think January was the month to brace for, but February’s the month. And March? Well, they guess that’s just the time of year that’s particularly chock full of surprises and exasperation and eye-rolling and just something more to complain about.
I’m listening but I don’t hear, you know? It’s all the same to me. I mean, I used to be one of them, but things changed and I came around to thinking it just doesn’t matter. I tried to be all concerned about the weather and the economy and politics and religion like healthy, curious human beings are supposed be, but it just didn’t work out. I could never get it right so as I could measure up, looks- or smarts-wise. I could never remember all the facts and stats and keep up with all the issues at hand and the arguing points and, well, I realized I wasn’t fiercely or otherwise committed to any one thing, so there was nothing to fight for. So I stopped.
I stopped worrying about my health like folks are always talking about. If they’re not going on about the weather or politics or religion, they’re talking and worrying about their physical and mental and sexual health, worrying so they can feel like those advertisements look, the ones showing glowing specimens of health of all ages, those shown in various stages of running or step aerobics or yoga or partaking of one of those sensible diet and exercise regimens you’re supposed to check with your doctor about. Your doctor, who knows you’re going to die of something sometime, so why worry about it?
None of the stopping I ever did was for lack of trying, though, don’t get me wrong. Ever since I was a little kid I was shown by way of endless streams of media what I was supposed to be and look like and what I was supposed to do and be interested in and find worthy to pursue, and how I was supposed to spend my school and work and leisure time, and who I was supposed to marry and how many kids I was supposed to have, and what sports I was supposed to master or at least be interested in, and on and on, and I watched and listened and tried it all, tried hard.
I don’t think I could’ve tried any harder than I did. Whether or not that’s true, I snapped trying, completely lost it. I don’t remember every detail of everything as it was happening, and there’s no need to. But I ended up here where the folks are all about trying to rebuild me to what they’ve seen in media streams is normal. They’re trying to get me back interested in the weather so as I can get back out there in it to complain about it, to roll my eyes at how unforgivably hot yet short the summers are and how miserably cold and long the winters are and haven’t we had enough? And when will it ever end?
New York City Library lion from http://pro.corbis.com/images/42-16574229.jpg?size=67&uid=%7BC9DC72DB-AF88-4010-A238-5763DFF8B5C1%7D
NYC winter congestion from http://pro.corbis.com/images/YM012953.jpg?size=67&uid=%7BC714B93F-A222-4B90-8196-79CE6C2D6FFE%7D
Missalister’s “Snow-blind,” copyright © 2009, was spun off the Sunday Scribblings prompt “#152 – Lost.” Click here for more on prompt #152 from other Sunday Scribblings participants.