Climbing the Walls
It’s January in Oregon, and raining relentlessly. The Christmas decorations are gone, the tree and its ornaments boxed and in the attic. At this writing, my son is under the weather with a cough that won’t seem to abate, partly because he is asthmatic. We are treating the wheezy, asthma-triggered part of the cough, but the chunky part is relentless. I know from many colds that the cough is typically the last thing to go away and that can’t really be rushed; it just drives me up the wall, the same walls I am climbing because it’s shitty and raining outside and I can’t do anything or go anywhere. I am not built for lounging all day with books and TV. I find it dreary to just circle the house from room to room, doing a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Starting the dishwasher and letting it run, infiltrating my space with a humming noise that says, It’s my turn to work. You get out and enjoy your free time.
There are many constructive things I could do, in theory, when I’m not working, but my Lite Seasonal Depression(TM) makes almost everything seem unappealing. Instead of opportunities—perfecting a song on piano, teaching my son a skill, hanging out with my husband, vacuuming the carpet—I see restrictions. It’s hard to read a book for pleasure, or write something coherent, when my kid is chattering and needling me for attention (or coughing up a lung). It’s hard to find a movie to watch when I need to either pick something kid-friendly, or retreat to the bedroom and watch my TV-14 or TV-MA shows alone, which makes me feel neglectful and lazy. It’s even difficult to enjoy a show or movie as a family unit because my son wants to see the same ones over and over again, meaning we either argue about the selection, or cave in to his request, which leads to me listlessly looking at my phone while the tired “Paw Patrol” Christmas movie is on; I feel crappy about doing that too.
Gloomy winter weekends and holidays only extend this feeling of malaise. Lately, since my son has been sick, I’ve been letting him kill more time with YouTube and video games. This should be freeing me up to chase my own bliss, but I still find it hard to relax for long, or be satisfied with staying home. I’m the restless, adventurous one in a family of homebodies. My husband and son are content to lounge around on a winter’s day, while I dream about seeing the world or even just the local coffeehouse.
True, there are certain adventures that aren’t advisable this time of year; I’d love to do more hiking around here, but not in freezing rain. And my Dutiful Mom Alarm tends to stop me from getting any other bright ideas, like mindlessly shopping or going somewhere else to read a book. The moment I leave my house, the alarm clock winds up and starts ticking away the minutes I spend enjoying myself alone. Family obligations ipso facto keep me tethered to home, and sometimes that leads to unbearable cabin fever.
It’s no coincidence that January is often when I start fantasizing about, or actually booking, my next vacation. I’ve got it into my head that Chicago is the great American city I’d like to visit this year. My fingers are already itching to schedule a flight, but first I forced them over to Bookshop.org to order a Chicago travel guide. So I’ve got that book’s arrival to look forward to. And I’ve already reserved a hotel for a short family trip to Seattle, which isn’t very from us. It will be cold, but I hope to take everyone for a cloudy view from the top of the Space Needle. Weather be damned.