this has been a different winter than those I've lived before. I'm not sure what the difference is. The air was so cold last week, like one of those spray cans you use to clean keyboards, right down your nose into your lungs. There were snowflakes Sunday morning. I played fetch with Suzy on frosty grass and I hopped ice patches while doing my "sprints" during workouts. But, that's not what makes this feel so different. Maybe it's because the rain is pounding a different window and my feet are facing west while I sleep. Maybe it's the two panting dancing dogs that always greet me when I come home and the huge responsibility I feel to make their lives not suck. Maybe it's my inability to cook for myself even though I love cooking or how much I love time spent driving alone in my truck. But, I think it might be the sadness that's hanging like moss around this Christmas. The seriousness of it all, the one huff of breath it takes to blow out a candle. I have never felt so indebted to music or my family and how wonderfully predictable they are. This winter feels like a motheaten wool blanket, like burnt buttered toast. It seems wrong that you can go through a whole day and not even be aware of what you are doing. But it happens, and it happens regularly. Yet, by the time you have realized what's going on the minutes have already passed. And, I am finally realizing what makes living in the city different than the country. The violence never seemed present but somehow this winter it's that damn wolf at the door. And maybe it's the recession or just a bad winter or timing or the way things have always been. But, it doesn't seem so. And when I get in the shower each morning I am a little surprised that I am still doing the same things. Still rushing, still waiting. But the backdrop feels darker, like how they change the stadium lights depending on the season and occassion.