After gift mayhem — I’m escaping down into the basement’s depths, an old troll living under the floorboards and threatening to eat cats and kin. Thinking, which can be hazardous to everyone’s health and causes weird plasticy burning smells mixed with the scent of hot wires.
I don’t know if it is the weather outside or in, but I’m feeling my inner esquimaux today. Probably, it is both.
Froze to the bone in my igloo homeEcho and the Bunnymen, The Yo-Yo Man
Counting the days ’til the ice turns green
It’s not quite a goth depression sense; it’s more of a morose ennui. Maybe gloomy is the better word. Thinking doesn’t help matters when I’m in this mood other than doing so acts like a purge of sorts. The six to eight inches of snow that fell on Tuesday adds to the feeling of entrapment and I’m grateful that there is an unspoken rule that if I head to the basement and you hear music or tapping away at a keyboard, it’s probably best that you don’t poke that bear.Continue reading