inside

it's snowing outside. i love snow, love watching the silver spray form a glistening surface, love watching it breed beauty out of the sheer ugliness outside.
except the snow in st louis falls short of sticking. all you get is wet wet wet. just 10 days ago i was in forest park and there was autumn around me, the air smiling in a breeze of contempt. blue skies blue waters under bridges. now it's all melting down the drain as i look at the colours slipping away with the day.
before this starts to sound like a sophisticated weather report i want to declare that i am, however, glad there are days when the weather is a torment to everyone around because i can sit and read while all hell storms outside, listening to ipod fairouz/brassens/brel/stereophonics mixture (?yes!).
there was a point to this post. knowing that i am inside and cannot be outside gives me peace of mind. knowing noone else is out gives me more peace. it's a tacit agreement among peoples of all kinds races classes here that tonight we shall stay home simultaneously and pay our bills/watch fox or some-other-entertainment news channel/read novels/drink wine/eat zaatar w zeit/blog to no end about meaningless thoughts that noone will probably read but you feel a need to share for some obscure reason. drink something hot which will keep you up at night causing you to say you had insomnia the next day (why? i don't know why, maybe anxiety/stress and explain your irritable mood mysteriously and why you missed the morning parathyroid presentation). i realize i am jotting my thoughts on the blog but i've decided i don't care i'm writing for the sake of writing from now on. you can even make plans to go to the gym and decide to forfeit because it's so miserably cold and wet in the dark on the opposite side of the huge window. of course the gym is 3 floors down the elevator inside your building, but it's still dark and damp and miserable outside, no?
a few weeks ago i felt sad that i haven't been feeling anything for months now. the state of no feeling. it scares me. to not feel but to feel comfortable with it. that it's normal. but two much needed trips and i can feel again. i teeter on drunken happiness with dear friends to stumble into tears around the next song, but, oh, to feel again. in my mind it is like a serum that travels down your vessels from head to toe crossing your heart your lungs your kidneys your ankles to the tips of your heels to cause you to be gradually diffusely visible again, suffusing warmth as it dribbles along your sinews. like pinocchio's transformation. so i let it out on my fridge and covered every available inch of metal blackness with photos of everything important and unimportant, like you have to hunch your back and hold your breath to see the distant ones if you really care. i wanted to have my life there when i felt hunger or thirst or boredom, at an arm's reach and a swing. of course now my fridge looks like a miserable campaign for colour but noone really looks at it anyway.
things are getting worse outside and the snowy mixture of ice-rain is really trying to patter its way through the huge glass thing. if anyone has read this post upto here i am impressed because this post has no beginning, no end, and no point!