Seasonal Hate, and other things

    I was out of town for the weekend and got back tonight around six. Drove in on the 201 and went for coffee in the downtown area at Starbucks. On the right was the moon in it's cheesy yellow glory. Ahead of me was the city of Winkler and all its charm. Slush-ridden roads, ice patches on the roundabout, lines and lines of fast food restaurants. Jimmy John's next to Wendy's next to KFC next to A&W next to 7-11 next to Walmart. Calorie Avenue. I felt like Tony Soprano driving through New Jersey after coming home from Italy. Disgusted with the filth at hand, unfulfilled by home. Horrid. I was filled with disgust by the place I call home.

But why?

Goodbye January, welcome to the most dismal time of the year. February, the month of love and ice. The time where dreams go to die and Christmas weight settles just above the belt. Somewhere between a cup of church coffee and a cup of over-steeped black tea, it's neither exceptionally good nor bad, flavourless nor enticing, fun nor boring. February dulls my senses and makes me loathsome. It's a new form of seasonal depression I like to call seasonal discontent. 



I used to experience the bladder-filling, mind-numbing, stuck-to-the-bed depression when I was eighteen. A few years of life and some change went by and I had two good winters where I didn't experience it anymore, but then as life continued to change and I settled into routine and my purpose fell to the wayside, I started experiencing a new feeling where I desperately needed change. I'd drive to work and dream of running away and leaving my life behind. I was not fulfilled and I was being pulled elsewhere. Anywhere but here, I said. Anywhere.

It got so bad that I began looking for apartments in cities I'd never been to and plotting my escape. Letters I'd leave to loved ones, envelopes of cash I'd sort to budget while I was off the grid. Pop back up in a few years, apologize and understand things would never be what they were before. Then disappear again. 
During one especially cold winter, I was speaking to a US Marine recruiter about enlisting. (Imagine me in fatigues and a buzzcut. Not good.) Got as far as setting up an appointment to speak to the guy in person, but I bailed since I'd have to meet him in Minnesota and I didn't have a passport. I had a bit of a reality check.

My escapism turned into loathing. Things got dark. I quit my job and got a new one, dreamt about leaving, lashed out and took every opportunity I could to bash my surroundings. Everything and everywhere sucked. And thus began my seasonal discontent.

And so today, as the overly-interested barista handed me my coldbrew and asked if today was a busy day, I realized that the discontent is creeping up on me. I stared Wendy's and KFC down with a great bitterness on my tongue and conjured up some nasty thought about how overweight the town is, and how ridiculous it is for Winkler to have ten Pizza places and fifteen Burger places and a thousand chains and not one ounce of healthy variety other than the ever-depreciating BarBurrito, and then I realized that I was slipping into the cycle of hate that comes with the weather. 

(How funny is it that our mushy brains and thin nervous systems can be so affected by the sun? That a little more darkness and some chilled air can make us misfire and malfunction? I think it's ridiculous.)

It was an epiphany, and a good time to do some reflecting. Writing it out might help, I said, and keeping tabs on where I am with the little ball of hate I hold might be a good idea. So I did. Then I found something. This is the part of the blog where we do some thinking. 

Poor reader, dear reader, haven't I been on this kick for some time? Can you not feel it in my tone and choice of words? Were you aware of my discontent before I was? I look back at the whole month of January's blogs and I think "Wow, how did I not realize it?"

I wonder if you noticed before I did, since you are on the receiving side of my ramblings. Does it all make sense now? It does for me. I don't normally feel so strongly about the state of the world or the algorithmic structure of Instagram or the time advertisements take up- yet I wrote an entire blog about hanging myself while doom-scrolling. Hmm. 

I think it is time for a change. (I'm not regressing, I promise.) For the month of February, I am committing my blogs to being more positive. Instead of bashing and complaining and yelling into the void, I'm going to at the very least fight against the void. How childish it is for me to drive by A&W and judge the people in line for eating there when I was at Wendy's a week ago? How selfish is it of me to drag you down with me?

Good night. 


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