Early is Better

Thick, grey skies. Snow showers. Rain. Slick roads. Cold winds that blow through even the heaviest coats. Tree branches draped with melting snow. Promises of icy conditions as temperatures fall later today and tonight. I believe the words drab, dingy, dismal, and bleak were coined to describe just such circumstances. An early morning drive to town to leave mi novia’s car for routine maintenance verified the meaning of those words. Much faster than expected completion of service on her car had us driving our respective vehicles back home far sooner than we expected. The return trip home reiterated the meaning of the words. Sitting here in my study, peering out the windows, I think I see those words superimposed on my vision of the forest outside. I feel those words as I wonder whether I will ever feel warm and comfortable again. And, now, in this early afternoon, the bleakness of the cold, snow-drench forest is amplified by periodic waves of fog that dims my vision of the frigid trees.  Until this very moment, I have never felt a deep longing to rest on warm tropical beaches; but, now, that longing is powerful. So strong that its magnetic pull on me is almost impossible to resist. Unfortunately, other unpleasant circumstances place obstacles before me, preventing me from surrendering to the desire for a healing tropical paradise. Damn.

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I wonder whether certain emotions are governed more by the physical configurations of a person’s brain (nature) than by his mental/psychological evolution during the course of his maturation (nurture)? Both anger/rage and pronounced emotionality (e.g., easily brought to tears) might owe their existence to physical attributes of the brain. Hah! So much work has been done on this concept that finding evidence to support any theory is simple, quick, and easy. Perhaps.

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Today’s snowy conditions (but not icy…yet) make me think of what I might have to deal with when the time comes for my cancer treatments. Thinking of the need to drive to town for chemo in the midst or the aftermath of an ice storm is a sobering thought. It’s unpleasant enough to deal with needles full of chemicals; add a frightening drive on ice to the mixture and it becomes downright nasty. It’s too early to think of these “what if” scenarios, though. I tell myself not to worry because I do not control the weather; suddenly, though, that admonition seems utterly foolish, as if I would be susceptible to such a blatantly absurd attempt to control my emotions.

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I have never been the sole occupant of a dinghy—with no way to communicate with anyone, anywhere—in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. But I think I know exactly how it must feel.

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Perhaps I will be up early enough tomorrow to write a blog post based on my early-morning thinking. This afternoon crap just won’t do.