wishful smelling.

i never fully appreciated it growing up, the fact that northern california winters were comprised of nothing more than four solid weeks of rain. i didn't understand what people were talking about when they spoke of the soul-crushing nature of this endless season; even when i was a kid and lived in canada (land of infinite snow), winter meant sledding, snowball fights and snow days. despite the bone-crushing cold, winter was fun.

then, i moved to new york.

it probably didn't help that i was already fairly depressed when i got here, thrown tail over teakettle into an utterly alien environment and lacking the requisite skills to accomplish such basic survival tasks as making friends. but that part aside, moving to new york caused me to redraw the boundaries of my relationship with winter: whereas once we were the sort of acquaintances that nodded pleasantly in the hall, i was suddenly the bobby briggs to winter's leo johnson--full of attitude but not really able to fight the bully or cope in any meaningful way. and slowly, oh so slowly, getting my ass kicked in a variety of exciting ways.

and so it has gone, in the seven winters since i first lit in this state. winter has been a trial, a season that lasts half the year and manages to suck my soul down into some horrid dark place every time. this year has been particularly bad. the combination of winter and various other things in my life has sent me spiraling into a depression the likes of which i've not really had since i was about seventeen. not the 'oh, i'm going to kill myself' kind of depression; more a 'i don't actually want to do anything at all. ever again' kind of depression. the kind of depression that leads to multiple saturday mornings spent curled on the couch in the fetal position and worried boyfriends asking where your spirit's gone. and a total inability to answer questions like that. an inability to answer the phone or go out. or read books. or write songs. or watch a long movie. or write. or work.

hence, the disgraceful state of my blog. the inside of my head, on those rare occasions it's managed to kickstart itself into generating any sort of abstract thought, has not really been fit for public consumption.

the last week or so has been better; my temper's been a little longer, and i've had the werewithal to do things like cook and see my friends and answer the phone. i'm still tired all the time, and the morning commute continues to make me wish that i lived anywhere but here, and to be perfectly honest the list of things that currently sound worth doing is still pretty short. but getting up in the morning has been a little bit easier the last few days. and i'm almost able to see the point of making myself presentable in the morning. and the first breath of spring is in the air, if you look really carefully for that little whiff of green.

and every now and again, for just a fleeting moment, i feel like it's all going to be okay again. it isn't yet, but it will be. eventually.