Spring is charging into the Midwest like a horny stallion, but I'm still a fat sleepy bear hibernating in my cave. I don't want nice weather, I want an excuse to use my fuzzy blankets as a strait jacket while I lay on the couch. I want to eat pizza, drink beer, and watch documentaries on Youtube so I don’t have to go out and subject myself to normal social behavior and subsequent judgment.
But you can only stay inside and follow the rabbit hole of Youtube Illuminati New World Order takeover clips until you're under the covers playing dead because you KNOW that Big Brother is watching and listening. They probably already have you under MK Ultra, and you're never going to Walmart again because it's definitely an Agenda 21 FEMA camp, so you'll have to drive an extra four minutes to get to a Target for cat litter and toothpaste because there' no way Target would be involved in such a conspiracy.
Hunkering down like this means I've lost my beach bod. I don't exercise often and I eat entire pizzas and whole cheesecakes regularly. I get out of breath just walking down the stairs. I could get my summer body back, but it would mean giving up my one reason for living and my one source of joy, which is binge eating on sugary sweets and take-out.
Eventually one of my friends will wonder, "what ever happened to that peculiar girl I used to know? The one with the fat cat and the tin foil hat?" And then after they check on me, they'll call for a crane to lift me out of the building and take me to the local zoo for a weigh-in.
Yesterday I went for a 2-hour walk. Walks by themselves are something of a lost art. People don't go for a walk unless they have a specific reason like walking the dog or going down to the bar. I steal books from Little Free Libraries and take pictures of vandalism. That's my reason. Sunshine and walking gets the brain moving, gets ideas flowing. When I got back I felt like the fat kid in gym class after running the mile, so I had a beer and a box of Girl Scout cookies and went through all the new photos for the site. Some are good and some are not. Anything, at this point, is progress.
Now is probably a good time to get out and get some exercise despite my inclination to stay inside, eat fatty cakes, and pop zits instead. Especially since Pajamas and I need to spend more time apart. He's almost always in the same room as me, and sometimes he even wants to be pet. While I'm pooping he sits outside the bathroom door and sticks his paws underneath, and I tap them with my toes. It's his new favorite game. This is why I have a hard time with relationships. I'm easily smothered. One thing we have in common is that we're both growing horizontally. He's about 12 pounds now; he might actually be a snow leopard.
Catfish in the Mud
I went to Namibia and took a tour of Sossusvlei, where it hasn't rained in 6 years. The river is completely dried up. My guide told me that even in the six-year drought, catfish are hibernating deep down in the mud and will surface again when the rains come back and restore life to the desert. I didn't believe him at first, like I didn't believe in the mysterious fairy circles on the dunes. But now the idea of catfish in the mud has become a metaphor for the things trapped on the inside and down below that wait for the rains to give them some vigor and life. Catfish in the Mud is a pretty standard millennial blog in which I say mostly nothing in about 300 words.