If the present world go astray ...
The return of clouds to Denver. A darkish overcast that will probably break apart under the weight of summer afternoon---but, as always, I'll steal a quick kiss from Solace when it's offered.
At the risk of seeing this become a deep, journalistic tale of one man's struggle against the hounds of mental illness, self-involved and entertaining no one, I'd like to account for my whereabouts during the past few weeks. This two weeks with no journal entries. My current writing project, too, virtually untouched during the second half of July. All calls and e-mails: unanswered. All freelance web projects: ignored.
The reason is an old song at this point. More interesting is the fact I almost cycled out of depression several times, but anything else consistently lost its footing in the relentless summer heat. As record heat pounded the city of Denver for what seemed a lifetime, the weather prophets were now measuring it in weeks rather than days. Temperatures inched back from 101 to 98, then back to 102 with a searing bullet. Some cities, subject to these conditions year after year, affect a kind of mental immunity to the nightmare. Denver whimpered.
Without air-conditioning, my apartment absorbed the heat that rippled off the surrounding city streets. I developed a habit of glancing only at the second digit when bothering to look at the thermometer at all, as it was invariably preceeded by a nine. Itself exhausted, time slowed to a heaving crawl. This made everything droop even lower.
My cats pleaded with me to make it go away. Winston, the enormous orange Rag-A-Muffin, ventured out from the porcelain embrace of the tub only occasionally, his long hair sticking up at odd angles where his sister had alternatively sleep on and attempted to groom it. I eventually had him shaved, and he screamed a little less. (Afterwards, I mean ... he carried on like a titty-baby at all times while in the car and at the grooming place.)
Anyway, I now have a profound respect for the power of weather on the human psyche. For two weeks I lay stuck to my couch playing video games and eating nothing. Mania would begin to creep in during the occasional early-morning hour, only to evaporate like everything else under the mid-day sun. But the weather prophets see nothing over 95 in my future, and this morning gray overcast shows signs of holding, so it looks like I'm back to writing, photography, my sketchbook, a few money-making schemes, a few schemes to take over the better part of the world, and the wholesale adoption of no less than three entirely new artistic-leaning hobbies that happen to catch my eye along the way.
And Winston? He can finally get back to the comforts of hardwood for his many naps. I'll post pictures of his new look shortly, as he's very proud of it.
The return of clouds to Denver. A darkish overcast that will probably break apart under the weight of summer afternoon---but, as always, I'll steal a quick kiss from Solace when it's offered.
At the risk of seeing this become a deep, journalistic tale of one man's struggle against the hounds of mental illness, self-involved and entertaining no one, I'd like to account for my whereabouts during the past few weeks. This two weeks with no journal entries. My current writing project, too, virtually untouched during the second half of July. All calls and e-mails: unanswered. All freelance web projects: ignored.
The reason is an old song at this point. More interesting is the fact I almost cycled out of depression several times, but anything else consistently lost its footing in the relentless summer heat. As record heat pounded the city of Denver for what seemed a lifetime, the weather prophets were now measuring it in weeks rather than days. Temperatures inched back from 101 to 98, then back to 102 with a searing bullet. Some cities, subject to these conditions year after year, affect a kind of mental immunity to the nightmare. Denver whimpered.
Without air-conditioning, my apartment absorbed the heat that rippled off the surrounding city streets. I developed a habit of glancing only at the second digit when bothering to look at the thermometer at all, as it was invariably preceeded by a nine. Itself exhausted, time slowed to a heaving crawl. This made everything droop even lower.
My cats pleaded with me to make it go away. Winston, the enormous orange Rag-A-Muffin, ventured out from the porcelain embrace of the tub only occasionally, his long hair sticking up at odd angles where his sister had alternatively sleep on and attempted to groom it. I eventually had him shaved, and he screamed a little less. (Afterwards, I mean ... he carried on like a titty-baby at all times while in the car and at the grooming place.)
Anyway, I now have a profound respect for the power of weather on the human psyche. For two weeks I lay stuck to my couch playing video games and eating nothing. Mania would begin to creep in during the occasional early-morning hour, only to evaporate like everything else under the mid-day sun. But the weather prophets see nothing over 95 in my future, and this morning gray overcast shows signs of holding, so it looks like I'm back to writing, photography, my sketchbook, a few money-making schemes, a few schemes to take over the better part of the world, and the wholesale adoption of no less than three entirely new artistic-leaning hobbies that happen to catch my eye along the way.
And Winston? He can finally get back to the comforts of hardwood for his many naps. I'll post pictures of his new look shortly, as he's very proud of it.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
aristar:
I replyed to you... only, on my page.... why? because I have few braincells that are active at the moment. 
girly:
Aspen was very nice! I was actually cold most of the time, but when you see the pics, you'll see why.