January 25th
I am still scared of driving in the snow, ever since this spin-out on the ramp of the Mid-Hudson Bridge in Poughkeepsie. Never rally faced this fear, when it snows, I will do anything to avoid getting behind the wheel. Doesn’t matter what snow — fresh feathery like, or a sleet, or a thick heavy big-ass snowflakes — no driving for me. If for any reason I need to drive after the snow fall, it’s a white-knuckle driving then for me, sweaty and sweary.
Today I went for a walk after work in a driving, nasty snow. I wanted to get some exercise and clear my head from work stuff. It was already getting dark and dreary. Walking was tough with wet snow on the sidewalks. On the edge of the forest along the path I wanted to go, there was a dog. Maybe a stray, but it looked well-fed and was running around with purpose so maybe not, maybe just run away from a yard somewhere. It looked at me for a while, blocking a path where I wanted to go. It sensed my uneasy mood, potential fear and lack of decisiveness. I walked away in a different direction, into the forest. I picked up a nice and handy branch, broken the way it resembled a pitchfork. Then I went back, the dog was still there, looked at me a couple of times, but it was already moving towards new apartment blocks on Sybiraków St. I kept on walking with this stick in my hand.
Snow gives me new appreciation for having my own place. It’s warm and cozy and mine. I will rest there after a walk, nobody will want anything from me, nobody will bother me for anything. My time there is my own. With heavy winter boots drying, wet hat and gloves on the radiator as well, and snow falling through a dark and depressing evening I feel almost content. The drabness of the winter trees and winter grass and winter ground is covered in a way that makes me think about sleeping or dreaming. For me sleeping and dreaming are two completely different things — I can only dream when I am in this state between tiredness and lucid napping when everything is very quiet. Snow muffles all sounds, even the neighbor’s screams at his wife. It muffles my anger and my emotions. And then — I dream about what already was.
