Cabin Fever

It’s dark outside. The sun roams about behind grey mist trapped in the sky, mist which expands and sighs, drifting about aimlessly and casting shadows upon the ground beneath them.

I sit, inside, my HappyLight beaming artificial light upon my face. Our cat rests next to me, basking in the warmth of the same light infusing my soul with cheer. (Who said money can’t buy happiness?) My tea slides down my throat as I wearily glance outside at the muted colours of autumn draped in the tears of the sky.

Voices chatter from the television, the dishwasher hums in the background, and life goes on around me.

Yet here I sit, on the couch, trapped by some horrible autumnal cold accompanied by a hacking cough for good measure.

I suppose it would be worse if it were a bright summer day full of promising things to do across the countryside. But this…this seems almost worse. As if the world outside is closing in upon me much as the universe seemed to close in upon Dr. Crusher in Star Trek when Wesley’s warp bubble swallowed her whole.

The chill sneaks into my heart, worms its way up to my head, and settles there. The mist follows soon after, bringing with it a torrential rain, which if not properly prepared for, will lead to a great depression.

It is this against which I fight once the days grow shorter, the skies infinitely darker with the storms which swirl about in the midst of autumn and winter. Although spring carries with it the promise of allergic reaction, I welcome the sunshine, the warm breezes, and the sprouting of new life.

For now, I sink back into the dark brown couch, sip my tea, and stare at the raindrops sliding down the glass window separating me from the darkened world.

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