new to snow, new to solitude
I am alone and it is going to snow, then sleet, followed by freezing rain to turn the city to ice. My spouse is down south and couldn't drive back in the storm, so I am also entering my second week of learning how to be with myself as an extrovert with a tendency to doomspiral and unmedicated ADHD.
I feel like another important context to being both alone and prepping for a storm is that my house is absolutely frigid. Our last gas bill was astronomical, so I move between two blanket forts with space heaters (safely, safely!) like my gecko moves between his hides. This one is in my studio under a low loft bed I use as a day bed.
One of the first things I've realized over the past week is how often I overstimulate myself to both not have to really be with myself and my thoughts and also to do one task at a time instead of toggling between six. I usually do this with podcasts and youtube videos - usually video essays - and I have been intentionally listening to more music this time - mostly Wednesday, Snail Mail, and Unknown Mortal Orchestra with a little Radiohead (Kid A) thrown in.
A metaphor for this overstimulation is how hot of a bath I will draw for myself. I lived without a bath for many years, and this house has a deep proper soaking tub. I am trying to take long baths to regulate myself for life among The Horrors, but I keep making my baths so hot I can only last 15 minutes. Each time, I try to set the water at a cooler temp, but then I go back and make it hotter because what if it's too cold? I can never sink in and relax without overheating, and I usually watch videos while I bathe. There is no space to be with myself.
The other day the bath was running at the same time as the dishwasher, and it was cooler. At first I was irritated, but once I was acclimated I was in there for a full hour just breathing (and listening to Harry Nillson's weird concept album the Point, which brought you "Me and My Arrow"). Without being overstimulated by the heat or a video, I could sink my ears underwater and focus on breathing. Without anyone else in the house, I lost the scarcity of time or anticipating the needs of someone else (what if my spouse wanted a shower?).
In the mornings, I've been loud. I've been singing Neko Case and this great song someone recommended on Mastodon. My spouse normally sleeps in and gives the dogs lots of attention all day while they work from home, so I've had to get them used to a big fun day with me. Singing and dancing loudly while I cook my eggs and pack my lunch feels like a boost on top of my two cups of coffee - and the dogs love to zip through my legs and play bitey-face with another in the excitement. I'm a terrible singer.
With the snow, I've been texting friends here and searching "when do I put out salt" and stocking up on dog food and firewood. I've watched the models with a similar excitement as how I watched the cone of uncertainty for each hurricane in the last decade and a half in Florida: there's a part of me that wants it to be really intense where I am. It's hard to explain the disappointment I felt when a hurricane's path peeled away from us, followed by this weird guilt from wanting the storm to hit us. I know how horrible hurricanes are, I've been living with them all my life, and yet I wanted the adrenaline of being hooked to the news like you're watching votes get counted on election night.
I feel less guilt hoping for just lots of snow here, so I get to enjoy my storm-hoping more - even as my forecast has been downgraded from 8-12" of snow to 2-4" of snow and sleet. I am humbled by how little I know about how to prepare or manage for it, so I have been trying to figure out how to be a polite neighbor and keep people from wiping out on my sidewalk.
I will probably be unable to drive for awhile once the storm hits and work will likely have a snow day. I will have to learn to be with myself and the ice and my house and my brain. As I was writing this, I looked at the news to see another white citizen like me murdered by the state. That's a lot to be with alone. I may need to sit with my neighbors tomorrow, and if sidewalks are safe enough to walk on, I have a friend in a neighborhood over with lots of housemates and a hot tub. But for now I pour my salt, I wait on the snow, I tend to my grief, and I draw another bath.