Cabin Fever

In my line of sight: an acoustic guitar, notebooks, a stack of yet-to-read paperbacks, a Nintendo Entertainment System (and a television), a window to a world of cooling temperatures and lightly falling snow. If only the skis were propped up in one of the corners — this would accentuated the gamut of feelings.

The visible and tangible snow was a reliable thought catalyst.

For the dramatist, perhaps the appropriate scene to define the moment would for the highlighted character to throw up the window, the screen and admire the falling snow, but that did not happen. Let’s be realistic.


The only resolution made for this year slipped into the picture by accident. Frankly, this was result of letting one’s guard down. The next thing: Dammit, was a resolution made?

If television or movies are to be watched, may they be watched with scrutinizing eyes. Should a piece of media simply be described as “awesome” or “terrible” and have the response be left as is — luckily, I haven’t done so, and nor do I plan to — may my digits be chopped off for every instance. The video games, despite not being a full-fledged gamer per se — barely even “occasional” — will be shelved and constructively replaced with that guitar.

The last time this instrument was truly played cannot be recalled, but since the moment there have been riddled instances of brief, five-minute strumming or plucking or reflection.

As far as the books: Another constructive outlet is going to be plowing through the stacks of unread calculated and spontaneous buys. In similar fashion to the visual storytelling, these will be scrutinized and not blown through in order to meet or beat a(n unreasonably low) resolution to read “this many” to boost an ego instead of boosting habit.

Seneca Lake (Taken 2011)

If literature opens doors to some imaginative and blissful and equally as painful world of fiction, I’d like to see how many keys, doors and secret passages there are. This is where the notebooks come in: Used to collect thoughts. All this blog is a vat of fermenting mash and an outlet to dump scraped off egoism.

The excuse being “this blog is the only outlet” is an egotistical thought. Not all thoughts written has to be read by as many people as possible. Not all has to be written on a computer — definitely not! These bare notebooks have to be filled.

At one point, Erin told me to bring my notebooks should we meet up and catch up over coffee. That ill feeling churned in my stomach when the word notebooks was mentioned. For months now, perhaps almost over a year, this lack of physical writing has been exaggerated to a level of insufficiency, being inevitdent.

After a post-improv show discussion with fellow Collectivists Dale and Stef incorporated skiing. Yes, we all should do this and as a group — it was agreed, but no dates were set in stone. It’s been a few years since the bagged snow toys began their hibernating. They’ll be mighty jealous of the snowshoes, which inevitably will crush upon and through the lightly fallen snow.

The romance of tranquility is elegantly displayed while taking a mental panorama of nature.

Peacefulness. Songs of Gregory Alan Isakov, Daughter and The Avett Brothers — it’s a low-key evening — run through the speakers, and the folk ambivalence projects anticipated escape. I’ve applied for the Amtrak Residency — with many thanks to Ty for his encouragement — and keeping spirits high about it. Despite a long shot, the odds are not as extreme as winning the Powerball.

Should I be one of the 24 chosen, hell, I’d be good for winning anything for another decade. Life on a train, writing, exploring, writing, working remotely, writing, eating, writing, enjoying a latte, writing, exploring, and even more writing. It’ll be similar to setting myself on fire, exciting and dangerous, because the travel bug will be fed and watered well. (Be still my beating hard; stop sprinting my running brain.)

The amount of elation can be felt simply by spending 24 hours in a remote cabin, house by a lake or camping out by a fire. The same goes for the snowy months: wake up to a great breakfast, coffee, slopes for hours and culminating with an evening in, relaxing and prepping for another day. Winter must be kicking in — summer camping and hiking is missed, craved. Hence, the music. Folk, easy going music, camping — hand me that guitar.

3 thoughts on “Cabin Fever

    1. Heeey, man. I think it’s time to head to a thrift shop or used game shop for an NES. I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate, but the thing is pretty therapeutic.

      I love revisiting “older” music. “In the Fade” reminds me why I got into the band, why I put Josh Homme on a pedestal of greatness.

      Hope all is well, and thanks for commenting!

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