I am trapped. Like a polar bear unwilling to go with the floe, I pace back and forth on my own little frozen patch of world.
It is eerily quiet and cleanly white all around my house, which is perched atop a hill overlooking downtown Richmond. Nice views in the early morning, when the sun turns the buildings a lovely shade of salmon-pink, and in the evening, when the lights twinkle whitely and brightly from not too afar. But if I could dig my car out of its cocoon of snow and if I could rock it back and forth from its parking spot, I would face the daunting task of driving down the slippery slope and avoiding the careening cars slip-sliding at the bottom. So, I guess you could say that I am, at least for now, stuck up.
The question I ask myself is, "For how long?"
The possibilities are all unpleasant: Until I end up cleaning out the fridge? Organizing my photographs? Filing all my papers? Watching daytime television?
It's 4:20 p.m. on the second day of my captivity and I've avoided doing anything even remotely useful. I've slept late (until after 9:00!) and eaten much too much and way too often. I've sat through 15 minutes of "Men Who Stare at Goats" before becoming too bored to even stare at the swooney Clooney. I've considered doing the laundry but just looking at the heaping baskets makes me weary.
I listen to the news about the devastation in Haiti, the continuing violence in Afghanistan and Iraq -- all the bad news in the world that makes my whiny malaise even more pathetic; I am privileged enough to be able to complain about minor discomforts.
I am still cold.