It’s winter. Very winter. Mid-way through the longest short month of the year, well into the “hunker down and pray” portion of the season. If not for my Happy Lamp I’m certain I would have gone over the deep end and taken at least one person with me. The only bright part of the month is the fact that not only are our taxes done, but we’re getting a refund large enough to get our electrical wiring checked AND repaired! Joyous Day! It’s the little things…like ensuring the electrical system doesn’t kill us all in a fit of pique because we dared to plug something in.
It’s the time of year when I fold into myself, get more introspective. This is the “hunker down” part. Last month I read The Future of Us. If you’re not familiar with the book, it’s the story of two teenagers in the mid-90s. One gets a new computer and when she logs into AOL for the first time, she finds herself on Facebook, reading the statuses she was writing fifteen years in the future. Incredible premise, ultimately disappointing. The book could have been mind-blowing, instead it was boring. The only reason it has stayed with me is because of the notion of reading your future. So I started thinking about what I write on Facebook, seeing it through my 15 year old self.
My 15 year old self thinks my 38 year old self is a boring smartass, sad about the boring but stunned at the smartassness. I do not recall being this snarky at age 15. I could be wrong, and I’m sure someone from that time of my life will certainly set me straight. Sadly, I now screen nearly everything I post through those 15 year old eyes: boring…whiny….boring…insulting…complainy…(seriously 38 year old Jen? Knock off the whining)…polarizing…oh, that might do…boring…whiny… I’ve deleted more than I’ve written. Everywhere.
Like right here? I had a two paragraph self-indulgent
ugly cry rant right here. Poof! Deleted. I’m trying to talk myself out of deleting this whole post.
It’s February and everything is bland. Nothing tastes good, nothing sounds good, nothing looks good, nothing feels good. It’s a blandness from deep in the bones, frozen there until spring is solidly entrenched. Everything frozen, hunkered down.
Speed it up, February. You’ve already worn out your welcome.