Life-like Abeyance

I find it odd that emotions can be forgotten, that something which is so intrinsically tied into being alive can fade into memory. That I can, at one point, blink and realize that I hadn’t felt much of anything, or, at least, noticed any real feelings, for weeks and weeks on end. Granted, any armchair psychologist could tell you that such a state of mind would be the resultant of overwhelming, looming emotions that are overwriting the smaller, flitting ones, but, still, I find it a strange circumstance. Perhaps what it may be the case of is what is classified as “seasonal depression,” wherein the shadows of some aspect of my past, connected with the time of year, blanket over my day-to-day happenings. I find it more pleasant to call it something with less downtrodden connotations: an emotional hibernation of sorts; every Winter, at the Turn of the Year, my mind grows cold like the wind, as everything turns into and around my own self and folds into an introspective, contemplative ball, huddled before the fires of old, rekindled. It’s an annual occurrence, yet I forget, each year, and am surprised to find myself standing halfway through January, struggling to recall the taste of solace in satisfaction. A silly man – A silly, silly man . . .