Novocain Days . I can feel the cold seeping into my bones, into my brain, into the deep dark recesses in which I store my memories of last winter... the cold wraps around those memories like tendrils of ivy and pulls the madness that lies hidden there up to my frontal lobes. . I've disappeared into that fog before because of the cold...or at least because of the effect it has on my mind. . He senses the demons that remain...even though we have had a reasonably good year. . A "sane" year. . He has already paid for the tickets that will guarantee a few weeks escape. They were a birthday present, back in September, so I know the cold was on his mind already then. . He deserves better. Or at least stronger... . This cold drove me away from the city of my birth, drove me south in spite of my ingrained aversion. We created a new life there, and would still remain if there was any way for him to do what he loved, but the university system back in California wasn't as desperate to hire him as the one here. . Here in the cold. Maybe I should explain, for those (like him) who shake their heads and mutter: . "You are a fool, Persephone, Californians don't have any idea what 'cold' is" . I disagree...the cold to which I refer is an entirely subjective state. It's relative to what your own body and psyche are accustomed to (or dreaming of) and is especially disruptive to those of us who...well, how do I put this? ...shut down. That's the best way I can describe the phenomenon. When the cold comes I find my brain going into some sort of reduced power mode. I continue to think, but find myself practically incapable of making decisions or even rational conclusions. I also find myself staring off into space, or at objects, for long periods of time. . Incredibly long periods of time. . I have to confess: I'm one of those people who writes "to-do" lists. I am also one of those people who always seems to have a few items spill over from one day to the next. In winter, it is a complete and total waste of paper pulp. If anything gets done at all it is accidental. I write those stupid lists in an attempt to organize the day's tasks (to give myself direction while my brain remains set on auto-pilot) only to find myself staring at the list three hours later. . Don't agree to meet me for coffee...I will either be late or not show up at all. I'm sitting home, staring at the cup I poured this morning. It's cold too. Most of the work I do is in the evenings, luckily, since I'm afraid an morning alarm would just be one more thing to turn off and stare at. . I don't have any plans to run away this year... then again, it's not really something you plan. The last time I left, I was losing whole days to the depression that I hadn't been visited by in almost a decade. . I gave up asking him to understand, packed a bag, and slowly slipped away. . Not fair, but I remember thinking I had no other choice if I wanted to get "better". . Every part of me was numb from the combination of the cold, the isolation, the frustration...almost total sensory deprivation. And some part of my brain was demanding a shock to the system, something along the lines of a sensory overload. . So, where else would I go but home? Sensory Overload Central. San Francisco. . And it was everything I needed it to be...for a change. . But that was then... I don't need it now. I think I'm learning to be comfortably numb. . I guess I was just a slow learner.

SMQ1996