It seems the storm clouds are lifting.
Man, it's been a long, bleak winter for me. Perhaps I should have hibernated.
I've never been a fan of winter, but this year was ridiculous. Normally my seasonal malaise lasts the month of January. I'm old enough to realize that it's mostly caused by the emotional letdown of that follows the long season that begins with my birthday at the end of October and runs through New Years.
I've also learned how sensitive I am to the lack of light at this time of year. I live in a rather bright apartment, but I seem to be leaving and entering it in twilight at this time of year, and it makes me feel rather grim.
There's also the possibility that I'm actually dealing with something deeper and darker; depression, if you will. When I find that I'm thinking of consulting psychopharmacologists, and my partner is suggesting therapy and/or a 25 year old boyfriend, it's basically time to check the lock on the henhouse. Again.
So, it was with great pleasure that I felt the storm slowly abating over the last couple of weeks. Small epiphanies and episodes have gotten me through some of the events that darkened me these past few months, and I intend to hold these hard-won lessons close. I've even learned a bit about myself, and I've decided to leave myself alone for a while.
The above drawing was done by my great friend Rob, who I've known for years and is one of the very few redheads who actually like me. I met Rob well over a decade ago at the Spike. If I remember correctly, I was rocking out to Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" when he approached me. This drawing is the cover art he created for a cd compilation he sent me at the height of my dark season. It starts with a cover of that same song by The Bad Plus. The cover art seems to be a Rob's-eye-view of me. It made me very happy when it arrived.
I was at my desk, working until 11:30 PM last night. Today it feels like small sandy creatures are paddling through my eyes. I'm looking forward to the weekend.
To that end, I'm about to hop on the E train down to WTC, board the PATH train, and head for Tim's. I'll have a couple of his superlative martinis and he'll decorously sip a Manhattan or two. I'll get a good night's rest and tomorrow night we'll dine with M. at one of the Village's old school Spanish restaurants. I'm not saying which one, because it's mostly a low key scene, and I'd like to keep it that way. Later, we'll have some drinks at Ty's and head home, to set our clocks ahead.
I'm going to do the same thing to myself.