White Sunday

Whitewash. My emotions it seems, as well as the scenery. Snow has a way of making me feel so trapped. I weigh at least half my weight extra on days like these, which may be why I never like to trouble with donning the layers of clothes required to keep warm. Such thick clothes--wool and down and such. No thank you...I prefer bare skin and a soft blanket by fire. I lie on the Navajo blanket legs spread and begin stretching. Side bends and sit-ups; whole sections of memorized dance routines that never left my body even after my last day at the studio. It's noon; I have just arisen but a nap will undoubtedly follow this routine, with only perhaps a cup of tea in between. The cabin is silent and for a moment, like one refrain of a chorus, I sit with the notion that depression is much sexier when one has a lover. Passing full days in bed making love is romantic...while the time alone turns into unchanged sheets, unwashed hair, dirt under toenails. Earwax and unplucked eyebrows. Commentary from Others on what is "healthy." Thoughts don't seem to stick around too long these days. It seems somehow, I've passed the point of ruminating on my sadness. I guess I still do miss someone but it's melting away...or perhaps, just buried beneath the heavy snow.