Fall. The season of cooling, and preparing for the winter season of sickness and scant resources. Harvesting and consuming all of the food, the warmth, the STUFFING … hoping to store it up in your body and be able to draw from it all through the coldest months.
It has gotten cold so quickly. I want to gather and hoard all of the solitude and opportunities for sleep.
I learned that a lot of depression symptoms people have can be traced to feeling cold, and that warmth — warming up in a bathtub, for example — can alleviate those symptoms of sadness. But it is SO HARD to drag the cold body out of its warm nest once it is there. The promise of better circulation from taking a walk, or even just warmth in a grows-cold-so-quickly tub, is so very hard to move oneself out of bed for.
When you compulsively hermit-hole yourself up in bed like this, the chances of getting excusably sick from an actual cold virus or flu are so very low.
How to justify bathing in the pink light under the ivory quilts? How to explain the exhausting effort of just bearing the weight of glasses on your face, and how wearying pulling them off. Decaying softly within a cloud of blur-fog: bad vision, eye-goo, and dizziness from the self-induced weakness resulting from these hours passed as a small hill of eroding flesh bundled in shapeless fleece body-wraps?
If only someone would tell you it’s okay … let me get that for you … you just rest, okay? Oh dear, you’re really in a bad way … you just stay here and try to get comfortable. We don’t want you to tire yourself out and make everything worse.
What I wouldn’t give for someone who would block it all out for me: the light, the bills, the worries, the noise, the demands. The social.
What I wouldn’t give for the money to take a bonafide “rest cure”. Inluding “THE Cure”. From a specially-endowed strange and strong nursemaid.
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