Winter's got me by my big toe. I'm not depressed, no, your little seasonal depression lightbulbs won't fix this one, kiddies. I am cynical, and ferocious. I can't stand to be around anyone, except Eric and a handful of others.

I am bound like a dryad, but I have no dying tree. My connection is with every single face I see as I walk down the street, the faces of the flowers alongside the road, the faces false and imposing on the billboards, crumbling bricks, piles of dirt, tire marks on the pavement. I love you. YOU. Reading this right now, laughing cynically to yourself "this chick doesn't even KNOW me" but that's ok. That's kind of the point. I don't have to know you. I don't even really think you exist, unless I've touched you, and even then who knows?

I want a loamy blanket with a patchwork of moss to pull over my body so I can sleep, my head on a rock, a root around my body like a cradling arm. I want to lay still and watch the bugs and animal exist live fuck die hunt prowl in their fullness. Humans confuse me to no end, and it isn't something I can always handle. I want to push most people away, but watch them from afar. Never get to know anyone in a vulnerable way, just admire them and smile when we pass, pretending we will go out sometime. Pretending we've had tea, sex, dinner, shared music...imagining what this person is like or that person is like and never having the disappointment of finding out I am wrong.

I am dispassionate. I care so much it hurts. I am ornery, but you might never know it. Everything is fine as long as I can still feel, which I can. No migraines, no pain, no problems, even...just a grump like a cloud settling over me.

Bah. It'll be spring sometime. Maybe I'll touch people again before then. Maybe I won't. Either way, I'm settling in and doing some Good Work - my focus is brewing mead, baking bread, loving and massaging on Eric, stretching my muscles, sitting in the sunshine and planning our garden this year. Domesticity is good for me...

I love you!