Fri 30, Mar, 2018
This is truly a horrendous season. I thought winter was unpleasant; at least winter was consistent. The Sun has been gathering its strength, and for a few days, it seemed like it was finally enough to drive away the cold and prepare for summer. And then the sky turned grey again, and that same bitter air returned, stale now, clutching desperately at window panes in the throes of its fading existence. It blusters and freezes the clouds until they drop great, fluffy snowflakes, all doomed to melt on contact with the earth, which has already begun to thaw.
I am adrift in this seasonless limbo, the victim of a listlessness perpetrated by the dregs of winter. I lie curled in my chair, uninspired to move, but unable to sleep; the shifts in barometric pressure produce in me an irresolvable restlessness. My world is painted in shades of grey after having glimpsed color; I am looking at life through the washed-out lens of dampened hope. The dull emptiness inside me is accompanied by the distant ache for sunshine and blue sky. I can feel the grip of an indistinct sadness pulling at my consciousness, trying to drag me down into the darkness of absolute solitude. And why should I resist? If existential nihilism turns out to be the great unconfirmed truth of the universe, then none of this matters anyway.
And yet, some small, forgotten piece of me breaks into my overcast cognizance like a tiny ray of the sunshine for which I am longing. Perhaps it is the memory of how blue the sky can be, and the perpetual birdsong that echoes across it and dances through the trees. The first crack in the gloom comes with the realization that I don’t want to be unhappy. Being unhappy is a waste of time, regardless of the potential futility of life. Even if Nietzsche was right, Epicurus could be equally correct; maybe it is simply the pursuit of contentedness that gives meaning to our time on this earth, and I want very much to escape the clutches of internal darkness and carpe each diem to the best of my ability.
I find, however, that clawing my way out is difficult. The chasm of despair is profound, and clinging to the edge of the abyss is exhausting. And then I see one of them nearby, the one who sits at the desk in my room, and I wonder why it didn’t occur to me earlier; if I reach out my paw, I am certain that one of my friends will take it. I slink from my chair and approach her, and start a simple conversation, which is well received. I put my paw on the edge of the chair, and am invited up. I settle in, and feel arms around me in a gentle embrace, and ear scratches and pets and warmth washing over me. Soft words are murmured at me, distracted by whatever task is at hand, but comforting nonetheless. I feel the darkness ebbing away, replaced by the simple but unmistakably powerful and all-consuming sentiment that the humans refer to as love.
I rest my chin on this human companion and the thoughts of winter’s edge still haunting the air fade away, replaced by a quiet flicker of hope that we will see summer come yet. My tail curls softly, and my whiskers fall to their ease. The melancholy still lurks in the obscure areas of my psyche, but its hold on me has waned significantly. It turns out that it’s okay to ask for help; to lean on the solid presence of another being while we drift together through this universe. I settle into a relaxed state bordering on sleep and resolve to endeavor to persevere. Maybe the sun will come out tomorrow.