and our farts will heat us, and keep us warm

This is the view from my office window, as my less-than-stellar Palm camera sees it. It's nearly dark. It's the first snow of the season. The Radiohead song "Lurgee" just came on. The semester is a week and a half from over. My ankylosaurus is all, What the fuck is this white shit, and how I am supposed to forage for low-lying vegetation when it's all covered? Don't you know that I am rumored to be one of the fartiest dinosaurs? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FART WHEN I CAN'T FIND ANYTHING TO EAT?

I'm feeling melancholy, I guess.

Lately I have been thinking of the winter I spent at the marketing firm--the early mornings spent skidding and slipping all the way out to the office, the days of meetings and client calls, the way the afternoon would stretch into evening, the skid-slip back to our little apartment. That winter lasted forever. This winter is barely underway, and already I am tired of it. I want a plate of enchiladas, a humid summer day, a piece of fruit. The idea of lacing up my snow boots and going for a brisk walk around the neighborhood makes me want to punch something in the face.

My reserves are starting to run a little low. The classes are scraping to an end. I have no poetry in me, no spectacular readings or desire to line any up, no beckoning projects. I sit in the living room and wish the walls were a handsome slate gray. I also want a treehouse, and a big white poufy comforter, and an open window.

Today I read a headline that said: Bear: The Meat to Try. 

I know there are days and nights of light ahead of me, a holiday, maybe even a visit to Minneapolis. I have been sending out envelopes to cities far from here and keeping my fingers crossed. I have nothing to complain about. And yet, this is where I sit: five o'clock on a Wednesday evening, twelve hours into the first snowfall, feeling as if I am falling further and further behind and will have nothing to show for anything come June.

Ankylosaurus and I are going in search of greenery this evening. We will forage through the bins outside of the little grocery store, and we will hang them in the hallway so that pine will be the first thing that greets us at the end of the long days, and we will sit in the not-gray living room and fart merrily all night. And our farts will heat us, and keep us warm.