Last night, when I got home from my morning shift and did absolutely nothing. True, I was running on only four and a half hours of sleep on a very persistent cold, but I hate when I end up being useless and get little else but earning a paycheck done. Sure, earning a paycheck is important, but it doesn’t count. Yesterday was a bust.
And I’ve been telling myself that that’s okay. I’ve gotten a lot better about accepting the fact that a day or two off is a good thing for me, that I don’t have to constantly be working on things, but it’s still a little difficult for me to accept. However, a day like yesterday had me firmly feeling that bears have it right. Hibernation should be required for anyone who lives in a cold winter climate.
It’s three degrees outside right now. Three. Single digit, four away from being negative digits. And we haven’t winterized our drafty-ass windows in our apartment yet because we’re lazy ass fucks. So it’s pretty cold, and I’m covered in layers and blankets and heat-seeking cats, which makes it difficult to move or do much anyway. If you’re dumb enough to live in a place that gets that cold, well, then, I think hibernation should be socially acceptable and, in fact, celebrated. Curl up, do nothing, wait for it all to pass over.
Snowbirds totally have the right idea, and one of my new goals is to be rich enough that I can just flee to a warmer climate for a good chunk of the winter. And if not that, then turn the hibernation thing into a whole event: stock up on food and blankets and sweaters, head off to some remote cabin with one hell of a furnace, and just stay there for a good solid three months and come out with a grizzled beard and maybe even a book or two. Or a hefty helping of dementia from cabin fever. Won’t know until you try, right?