A friend of mine loaned me her copy of the first season of Heroes because I have never seen it. Now, I'm hooked. And just when I was beginning to think I had caught up on the all the television that I could possibly ever want to spend hours at a time watching. BLAST.
I've been struggling with a little lapse into depression that often snags me in the winter months. I've been spending a lot of time in my head. Not sure if that's the best place to be, but it's definitely forced me to listen a lot more. People will tell me the most interesting things if they feel that I'm really listening. And THAT, my friends, is between people and me.
Tonight, I accomplished the daunting task of thoroughly brushing and flossing my teeth. Sometimes I feel that I have to muster up the strength of a super hero to complete certain daily tasks...or tasks that should be daily, but are usually not, for me. So, tonight I mustered up the courage and the super-human strength to clean the inside of my mouth. It required a lot of staring myself down in the mirror over the sink, and a bit of out loud commentary...and some commentary in my head, while my mouth was unable to talk through the rinse, or the floss. I cleaned the living daylights out of my teeth and gums. It was no small task. But I met the hell out of it, and I usually do...at least once a month. I mean, I brush my teeth twice every day, but I don't always floss, even though I KNOW I should. How long does it take before something becomes a habit?
The snow days this week have been surreal. They were needed (after an arduous three days of classes), but they were surreal. I spent the first two at a friend's house in the woods. Each day, we took the dogs out for a long walk in the forest, and to the neighbor's land to check on their home. It's hard walking in 7 inches of snow. It's exhausting. We would walk out of her driveway and back up her neighbor's impossibly long drive to their home. The woods in the snow are eerily haunting enough, but this house was something else. It was a log cabin. Beautiful polished wood, so light that it almost looked gray, unpainted, and the roof was red. It was obvious that no one was home. I could feel it whenever the house came in view. There was a stillness. Everything around the house was quiet, pausing. I have no memory of the sound of our footsteps in the snow, or the dogs trudging around and ahead of us. Just silence. Stillness. Solitude. I wanted to touch part of the house, to lean against one of the red doors and listen to the silence inside. There was something being said in the peace of that clearing, and I wanted to hear it.
But we kept walking. As we so often do.
The snow is melting. Linus is getting a little annoyed by it too. The top layer is ice, and walking through it is more of a challenge than actually trying not to fall down. He doesn't like the breaking of the ice beneath his paws. He also doesn't like having to walk around in it to find a place to relieve himself. He looks at me, and I shrug my shoulders. What else can I do?
May I recommend an oatmeal bath to you for these cold cold winter nights? So soothing.