Winter ennui

Oh the crushing boredom of winter: shuffle from the house to the car/bus/destination in an ugly puffy coat. Struggle for the motivation to do anything beyond curling up under a blanket watching hours of television. Run out of Melophobe shows for the year because nobody tours during the holidays. Watch the sun setting defeatedly at 4 PM. Glare out the window at the unrelenting rain. Grit your teeth against the cold morning. Switch to red wine because it's too cold for white and the sugars interfere with your sleeping patterns. Cough. Sniffle. Apply lotion to the ever-cracking skin on your hands. Listen exclusively to Elliott Smith, Leonard Cohen, Mary Lou Lord, and the Magnetic Fields. Cross your fingers for the speedy demise of the season and the welcome arrival of spring.

I could never live anywhere but Portland. I've traveled the world and found no city that comes close to here. But the winters, the WINTERS. The drop-off of activity and the slickness of the sidewalks. The pervasive malaise that creeps into my veins. The desperate longing for sunshine and sleeveless dresses. The feeling of disconnectedness that I can. not. shake.

The oppressive Northwest winters keep me bound to the desert at least once per year. Though moving back to my hometown would represent abject failure to me, I can't go a single December without escaping there for a few days. It's a bleak, expansive wasteland with a knack for draining the life and ambition from all who inhabit it. Still, I can't stay away for long. Once the endless winter nights set in, the experiences of my childhood begin swirling in my head and I long for the dry desert air. One week a year, I want my unturkey sandwich, accompanied by gallons of sun-ripened iced tea, waiting in the fridge when I pull into the driveway. I want the mineral-rich water that instantly revitalizes my hair and skin as soon as it hits me. I want the chance to splash in a swimming pool all by myself. I want the dead quiet, the lizards sunning themselves on the wall, the intensely flavorful Mexican food, the 2AM trips to Del Taco, the lack of concerned looks when I order the hottest salsa on the menu. I want wide, familiar roads that stretch beyond the horizon. I want visits with old friends who've known me since childhood. I want three flavors of Cactusberry frozen yogurt teetering precariously over the edge of my dish. Just the idea of breaking up the relentless winter with a week in Palm Springs is enough to carry me through til the sun returns to Portland. Soon, soon, soon.


Photo shamelessly stolen from my mother's Flickr account