The light of day is not my friend lately. The light of day in my bedroom means that eventually I have to get out of my bed and figure out how to spend my time until night comes and I can guiltlessly crawl back in it.

At least it was rainy and gloomy this morning, which matched my mood. The wind was slapping something against my bedroom walls; it must have been some sort of cable wire, since nothing else exists there because my not-so-nice, morphine-addicted landlord ripped out all the beautiful forsythia bushes this past summer.

And the geese… the goddamn Canadian geese must have a routine flight plan that goes directly over my house as they head south for the winter. They scream at all hours – almost barking, like seals or dogs, but not at all like birds. They disgust me.

I don’t mind the rainy days; sometimes I need them. They allow me to feel sad or serious without the self-induced guilt associated with staying indoors on a gorgeous sunny day. I can always hear someone’s voice (real or imagined) saying, “It’s a beautiful day – why don’t you go outside?” Sometimes I don’t want to go outside. Lots of times I don’t want to go outside.

But his unbearable stretch of cold and clouds between New Years and – let’s just say Memorial Day – is hell. It used to be through March, but the strange weather patterns of recent years mean good weather isn’t necessarily consistent until the end of May or even June.

Cold, nasty weather means I’m holed up inside. And that means my brain kicks into overdrive.

I wish I could shut it off – remove the key from the engine and let it rest quietly for an indefinite amount of time. But it never stops. It starts with a single thought… that one turns and turns until more thoughts join the storm… and before long, a battle is raging inside of my head.

Technology provides me with temporary escape. Today, I turned to StumbleUpon and then went to Facebook. An old friend had invited me to join awhile ago, but I just let it sit and part of me was afraid to put my vital statistics out there for the world to see (which is a little absurd, given that I’m willing to reveal the deepest parts of myself here on Unwritten, with all my psychotic musings – what’s in a birthday or a street address or a last name?)

Anyway, I played around on there for a bit, found my first husband (whom I haven’t seen for 20 years, and no, I did not contact him), and then clicked around a little on LinkedIn under the guise of making business contacts to push my job search along.

All of these activities led me to explore some connections from my college days, and soon I had dug out the old yearbooks from the storage area. I searched through the warped pages, overcome with the musty stench of my past, while short movie clips flashed on the imaginary screen in my head.

I don’t remember very much about college, and what little I do gives me a rush of sadness and misery and overall discomfort with myself. I was deep into survival mode then, yet it was a mere foreshadowing of the difficult days to come.

Obsessed with my high-school boyfriend and with getting out of my house as quickly as possible, I finished my major in 3 years in order to graduate with his class, a year ahead of my own. We married 2 weeks later.

Seeing those old faces brought a sadness over me that felt like a heavy, damp blanket. My stomach hurts. Whatever ghosts exist there, I am not ready to meet them.

1 Comment on “Ghosts of New Years Past

  1. It’s Shirley again. Way past my bedtime…lolWho was your first husband? I’m divorced twice also.


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