I could so easily be a bear. They eat five times their caloric needs just so they won’t starve when they hibernate during the winter season. They stay, cloistered, somewhere solitary and warm, sequestered away from the frigid temps, sleeping up to 23 hours a day.
I could so be a bear! I hate, HATE the winter. On my days off now from my paying job I find myself at my writing desk in my loft, typing away, day dreaming, coming up with plot twists and turns and looking out the window at my forest filled with snow. And I never go out.
I have friends who like to go for walks during subzero temps, claiming it’s invigorating and endorphin producing.
Uh, no, it’s not. Not to me anyway.
I like nothing more than to stay in my flannel pjs, my ugly and falling apart Elmo slippers on my feet, my hair in a knot and my glasses on my face, and just typing away… and away…
I can write an entire novel or two during the winter if I don’t go out. That’s very productive, don’t you think? My friends worry about me not interacting with other humans, not getting any socialization or camaraderie. They think I’ve turned into this antisocial hermit who shuns society.
I don’t shun society. I shun the cold! Big difference there.
I tell them not to worry. Come the spring they will see me again.
Until the time when black fly and mosquito season starts. Then I could so be a bear again.