But it wasn't always this way...
I work outside, even during Winter, so I tend to come down with a motherfucker of a case of Winter Blues. The ol' Seasonal Affective Disorder. This past Winter has been particularly hard and depressing. Pediddleville being Pediddleville, the vehicle I drove through the Winter to and from work has NO HEAT. Also weighing in is the fact that winters seem to be getting harder and harder. I don't care what you think about whether Global Warming (Climate Change) is real or not. To me it is real. To Irene, Sandy, Alfred, and that big blizzard two years ago it was real. All that extra water vapor has to go somewhere--collapsing roofs with its weight, and seeping into your basement, ruining those forgotten boxes of stuff, molding up your carpet and drywall. Two years ago, you may be surprised to hear, I was thankful that I came down with Walking Pneumonia, because it meant I did not have to work outside in three feet of snow for ten days. Winter is also the time when I'm not simply broke, as usual, but near destitute. I really wish I could abstain from Christmas, because that's the one expense that fucks me for the whole season. It's corporatized bullshit anyway. What I want for Christmas is for there to be no Christmas.
...Or to be able to afford a new car, one that has heat, and a working gas gauge for that matter. One cold day I was driving home from work in the pick-up with no heat. At just about the twenty minute mark--the amount of time it takes for me to get a good chill--I ran out of gas. I thought I had had enough to get home and I'd planned to fill up in the morning, but instead I was stuck in the parking lot of a library across from the old Nathan Hale schoolhouse. I had already crossed the steel grate swing bridge over the Connecticut River and had already passed by the nearest gas station. Pediddleville being Pediddleville, my gas can was also empty, so I had a predicament. I had a feeling that pedestrian traffic across the bridge was not allowed, and the next gas station was way too far to walk to. Just then I remembered the roadside assistance membership I had. It was a budget motor club, not the expensive name brand one. I called them and the guy I spoke with said that he was about forty-five minutes away, and couldn't seem to understand the directions I had to give him. Frustrated, I thought maybe I'd call my neighbor to bring me some gas. I told the operator I'd call back, then my cell phone battery died as if on cue. Pediddleville. See what I mean?
Shivering, I locked up the truck, grabbed the gas can, and started walking back toward the river. It took just a few minutes to reach the bridge. There was no "No Pedestrians" sign on the bridge, but it was clearly designed for auto traffic only. There was no line demarcation of any kind of sidewalk, and the bridge is fairly narrow. It was dark, and the lights of the oncoming cars and the overhead lights made it quite surreal as I strode as close to the side wall as I could, my feet clunking down on the metal grate. It felt like a hard surface, but the optical illusion of the lights, and being able to see the water way down below my feet was vertiginous, but somewhat thrilling. I just kept fearing getting hit by a car, because with the wildness of the experience and the proximity of the cars and the unexpectedness of my presence and the day I had been having, it just made perfect sense.
From the bridge it took another probably fifteen minutes to reach the gas station. Pumping the gas came off without a hitch--no card declined, no spillage, and soon I was walking back toward the bridge. Now the concern was being pulled over by the police. After all, I was carrying a container of a hazardous material over a body of water, but I suppose any cop would simply give me a lift over the bridge. Halfway across a young guy stopped and offered me a ride. I didn't know him, and didn't think about the potential for misadventure that getting into a car with a stranger at the wheel could bring, but it was okay. He told me I really looked like I was having a hard time. I said I wondered about walking the bridge, but he said he'd walked it several times, and that there was no rule against it. He dropped me at my truck and wished me well. My luck had turned, I guess, when I decided to walk in the cold over the water.
A few weeks later I had thoroughly had it with Winter, for this and ALL years. I am getting too tired of dealing with the cold and the poverty that comes with the season. I had a scheduled vacation, and I had a LIST. There were so many things I wanted to get accomplished during the vacation. I told my wife not to get her hopes up that I would be much help around the place. I was determined to do my things in order to preserve my sanity. Since there was no money, a "Staycation" it would be, but that was fine with me since I'd have time to work on my list. Of course Pediddleville being Pediddleville...
Winter depression exacerbates the 'ol Creatism disease, it appears. Creatism is a made-up psychosomatic ailment that I have suffered from over the years. It can best be described as a cross between Creativity and Autism. No, I'm not really Autistic, but it seems like whenever I have a burning desire and need to accomplish things on a creative level and actually have the time to do it, that I can't do it. I have this need, like most people need food, to do creative things. I like to make stuff--my own stuff. My own beer. My own radio show. My own musical instruments. My own music, and on and on. Bob Dylan wrote my theme, in his song Maggie's Farm: "I wake up in the morning, fold my hands and pray for rain. I got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane. It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor..." I can't stand when anyone wastes my time or my energy. I am quite capable of wasting my OWN time, thank you very much! I have my best creative ideas when I am imprisoned at work and can't do anything about it. The frustration builds up more and more as I have to work more, and do more everyday responsible stuff, and not having the time, the energy, or the money to afford it makes me nuts, especially in the winter. When I do have time I am overwhelmed with the size and time factor of THE LIST, and I get stuck. This is what happened during my vacation. I kept setting goals and timelines for doing things, but my list just went cold. I did nothing all week. Nothing.
And so it goes. I started writing this post weeks ago. Some champion level procrastination has taken place, and of course the everyday busy busy rigamarole of having a family, but I've also been busy with a few good things like working on the lathe and getting my bagpipes out of mothballs. The days are much warmer now, and it is no problem driving that truck. Getting out in the woods, though it is time consuming, is good for the soul. This year I will try to get a bike and do some rides along the Airline Trail that skirts in and out along Salmon River. Time to blow out the cobwebs of Creatism...
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