Here it comes.
My computer cursor pounds, a telltale Hitchcock heartbeat, an unavoidable thudding, a steady command. I think about what I could be getting away with, and yet I can’t make myself peck it out. It’s never been this hard for me before, this weird, this arrhythmic. This jagged of a fucked up atrial beat, the writing, the words, the weather, the turn.
I know this place. This is that awful purgatory, one leg straddling each side, that space in time when I know where I have to go but these feet won’t listen. I stop stuck and there’s this tiny smidgen inside that still believes like a kid, a kick poof of dirt, that protests, that hopes that this season could be different, and why not? Why the hell not? We are the horsemen on our own paths. We steer the course. We decide. Six months out of the year I don’t have to tell myself this. Six months out of the year it’s so obvious to me. I stand, I stand solid and salty and invincible.
And then it’s like I sit down.
So I fill my heart with Norman Rockwell. With images of thick sweaters and an hour gained, the flesh of sickly pumpkin hearts dripping from my daughters’ fingers, of cinnamon vanilla ice cream sliding into a melted pool of sweet apple pie heat. I think about red leaves pressed between yellowed pages and the snap crackle of elm in our wood stove’s belly, the roar and the comfort, the capital D dream.
I play my music. I take my vitamins. I do these grinning exercises in the mirror because I read once that that works, that you can fool the brain into believing it is happy, that you can force that wretched cart before that old, broken horse.
And I try not to think about these pages, these blank pages, these weeks without hearing my true voice, forgetting what she sounds like, her accent, her lilt, her gravel. I shuffle through my deadlines, skate circles around my obligations, but avoid the ruts, the cigarette butts on the edges, the blue bony finger tapping on my tender shoulder, the icy breath on my neck.
I didn’t used to be like this. It never used to be this way. I can’t understand why it’s happening, why now, why me. The last two winters are a black and heavy snowfall on my belly, not the clean redemption kind, not the fairy tale film kind, but rather the messy sludge, the suffocating sort, the deep, ugly freeze that holds me powerless with a predictability that makes me feel murderous.
And I stand here, the frigid sweep of air curling around my legs, up my side, through my shirt. And I stand here, ignoring the tap tap tap, refusing to turn and face it, knowing I don’t have it in me, remembering how it’s been, solid in nothing but the past. And I stand here, and I close my eyes, and I close my coat. And I whisper, please.
Corina says:
Palpable. You put what I have been thinking the last few days, what I have been struggling to express, into elegant words. Thank you. I hope that you find peace, and rhythm, and warmth.
October 6th, 2009 at 6:29 pm
Janet says:
I know.
October 6th, 2009 at 6:34 pm
Jay Schryer says:
Beautiful, as always. Powerful, as always. Poignant, as always. Perfect, as always.
October 6th, 2009 at 6:38 pm
Tweets that mention Okay, Fine, Dammit ยป Here it comes. -- Topsy.com says:
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Jay Schryer. Jay Schryer said: I wish i could write half this beautifully: RT @MaggieDammit: Here it comes. http://tinyurl.com/yejxexw [...]
October 6th, 2009 at 6:40 pm
catrinkas says:
I reported this, or the avoidance of this, less eloquently in my own blog. For me, the rain has done it – and I know if I lived somewhere colder, I would ‘get’ this on a direct level. As it is, the feelings are still relatable, even if the chill is somewhat abstract.
October 6th, 2009 at 6:40 pm
Deb says:
Come to Florida…
October 6th, 2009 at 6:45 pm
Deb says:
Follow Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Hemingway….
October 6th, 2009 at 6:46 pm
Erin says:
Will you please write a book? I savor your words… Your talent is immense; your reach astounding. Thank you.
October 6th, 2009 at 6:53 pm
Nicole says:
Oh yeah. I SO get this. Why do your words usually express so much better what’s in my heart and my head?
October 6th, 2009 at 6:55 pm
pgoodness says:
Aside from wanting to hug you, I want to say get one of those lights that are like natural sunlight, get Vitamin D supplements, make an indoor oasis….but I realize that makes it sounds so easy and fixable, and I know that it’s NOT. xo
maggie, dammit Reply:
October 6th, 2009 at 7:24 pm
I totally have one of those lights! Actually, I have two. (Fingers crossed.)
won Reply:
October 13th, 2009 at 3:24 pm
I totally had to try to remember your advice on the vitamins pgoodness.
My brain works primarily by association.
So…Vitamin D(epression) is now on my mental list.
October 6th, 2009 at 6:58 pm
Issa says:
I wish I didn’t understand this so fully, but I do. God, right now, I so do.
Just know, I’m here, reading, thinking about you. Hugs Maggie, tons of hugs.
October 6th, 2009 at 7:00 pm
Vicky says:
YOU TOO? I thought I was losing my mind these last few days. Like, oh no, this can’t be happening yet. I’ve been living in technicolor and my world is going grey far earlier than ever before. They said snow next week but the grass is still too green and the leaves haven’t fallen. Have you tried the lights? I haven’t pulled that trigger yet, but this may be the year.
Okay, I just looked up and yes, you have the lights, and have you tried them? Please tell me they work… Verilux is the one I have checked into.
maggie, dammit Reply:
October 7th, 2009 at 8:37 am
I only started using mine toward the end of last year, right around March, when it wasn’t possible to get any lower–but yes, I believe they worked very well. My only complaint was that the lights are hard cold boxes instead of squishy cuddly pillows, because I seriously wanted to spoon with the thing.
October 6th, 2009 at 7:32 pm
Boy Crazy says:
i’m sorry this is where you’re at miss maggie. but you sure do write about it beautifully. i swear i could actually feel that icy breath and that bony finger. very edgar allen poe-esque. what they call ‘hauntingly beautiful.’
October 6th, 2009 at 7:33 pm
Janie says:
You so rock in your writing….
October 6th, 2009 at 8:38 pm
Fran says:
Powerful stuff, girl. It seems like it just turned spring! How can we be here again? You know you’re welcome if you ever decide you need a break in warmer climes.
October 6th, 2009 at 8:48 pm
Coast Rat says:
I can’t believe I’m wearing a zip-front hoodie sweatshirt already. Wollin is down in Ocean Springs a few blocks from the Gulf, and just advised it was about 80 there today and several members of his drywall work crew had problems with the heat, including him. I don’t mind what’s coming, though, having missed it the past two winters (literally and figuratively). I’ll take a good ole’ blizzard any day, over one of those damn gulf hurricanes! Good to see you having fun with your family, Saturday, dancing up a storm!
maggie, dammit Reply:
October 7th, 2009 at 8:37 am
It was so good to see you, too. I can’t wait to see pictures!
October 6th, 2009 at 8:52 pm
Heather says:
You’re from Wisconsin. It has lonely desolate winters. Get the lamps. I have found cross country skiing and outdoor running make it work for me.
As for the rest: write if it makes you feel better. If not, let go.
October 6th, 2009 at 9:14 pm
thatgirlblogs says:
find the sun…
October 6th, 2009 at 9:17 pm
Terri Fischer says:
you = Persephone
October 6th, 2009 at 9:31 pm
we_be_toys says:
Winter does this to me too, but mercifully, I live in NC, not WI, so it doesn’t last as long.
SAD sucks, so come to Raleigh,
on your way to Florida,
you know, like the migrating birds do.
I think they might have the right idea, actually.
October 6th, 2009 at 10:03 pm
anymommy says:
I hate winter. But, girl, your writing never misses.
October 6th, 2009 at 10:06 pm
Jurgen Nation says:
“This jagged of a fucked up atrial beat, the writing, the words, the weather, the turn.”
Jesus. It’s like we’re renting the same brain.
October 7th, 2009 at 12:02 am
Theresa says:
Beautifully written. I understand all too well.
October 7th, 2009 at 3:15 am
deb says:
starting to write gives me light in those dark cold places
write
let us read it please
but write
October 7th, 2009 at 3:55 am
JanB says:
I know it. I have been feeling the dread of winter too, and it’s barely even fall. Each leaf that falls brings that squelching feeling to my chest. I hate winter. It is too damned long. I feel locked in just as if someone is closing the lid on the casket and I am powerless to stop it.
Frankly, I don’t think that getting special bulbs or a tanning membership is going to stop this MF.
October 7th, 2009 at 3:55 am
Hilly says:
You put into writing what has been stuck in my brain. Different reasons, same feelings.
October 7th, 2009 at 5:39 am
Mojo,NC,USA says:
Umm… I think I must respectfully disagree. You say that the coming of the winter of your discontent muzzles your muse? ‘Fraid I gotta call bullshit on that one sis. Because this? This is … poetry. This is … damn, girl, this is art. Visual and visceral and just…
I’m not just speechless, I’m breathless.
Wow. Just… wow.
October 7th, 2009 at 6:12 am
Ann says:
And SURPRISE I am standing behind you and I whisper back
LET’S GO
And suddenly we are catching drinks and slingin’ songs at
THE KID.
(Just say when)
xo
October 7th, 2009 at 7:39 am
Sprite's Keeper says:
Sigh. For me it’s always time. Time will not allow me to get out the voice I want, get it out of my head and onto the screen, save it somewhere else other than the folds of my memory. I need time.
October 7th, 2009 at 7:51 am
Megan says:
I want to send you a envelope filled with sunshine and singing birds.
October 7th, 2009 at 8:36 am
slouchy says:
i hear you, babe. almost wish i didn’t.
October 7th, 2009 at 10:34 am
starrlife says:
“without hearing my true voice”… hugs Maggie- you will never lose your voice- it is only your perspective and we are here to propr you up when you need it!
October 7th, 2009 at 5:49 pm
David Levine says:
Yes, the wind from the northwest howls tonight, in waves of 5 or 6 minutes duration, and though we’ve yet to get a hard frost, this wind definitely says winter is coming soon. And yesterday, a distant V of geese pointing south, their barely audible song of snow and long nights just ahead. But the firewood is stacked and dry, the chimney will be swept real soon, snow shovels taken down from the garage rafters … uggh. I can’t look forward to it, but it’s been many years since a bigger trauma shorted out the winter blues I’d come to expect each fall, and after which such darkness was forced into its proper container. And more recently a funky greenhouse has helped immensely. A sunny January weekend I’m out there at noon with a book and a drink knowing that sun is on its way back north. It helps a lot. Along with the workaday routine. Hypnosis. Whatever it takes. People ask, oh you must love the skiing, and I say, my only winter sport is snow blowing. Nyuk.
October 7th, 2009 at 6:32 pm
David Levine says:
I want to say what a lovely post this was too, but everybody else already did.
But I have to say it anyway Maggie.
Thank you for clicking Publish!
October 7th, 2009 at 6:34 pm
flutter says:
you and me both, my sweet friend
October 7th, 2009 at 11:04 pm
rubytwoshoes says:
Oh dear, we have been complaining that its been between 17-20degrees celcius here lately, and, for some of the day, cloudy. Some people say we are a nations of whingers, but I really don’t know where they get that idea…
October 8th, 2009 at 2:51 am
Leisa Hammett says:
Wow. You’re funny. And good. And, silly me, I thought bc you’d offered to do a button for Nashville Moms Who Blog you were down here in the South. And even announced so on my blog that you were coming to our meet up. I see now you are not. Poor cold you. You’re cute, too. Your face is Blissdom? familiar.
maggie, dammit Reply:
October 8th, 2009 at 7:59 am
I think you’re thinking of my girl Megan Jordan from BlogNosh and Velveteen Mind. She’s VERY cute.
http://www.velveteenmind.com
October 8th, 2009 at 7:53 am
Domestic Spaz says:
I discovered your blog while perusing for new blogs to discover since I was nominated for this little award (which I nominated you for, btw, at my blog) and I think I might love you.
And yes, come to Florida. It’s 91 degrees outside right now.
October 8th, 2009 at 11:22 am
Missives From Suburbia says:
Sorry, what? Six months? In Wisconsin? Clearly, I need to move one state over, because winter here is always at least seven months long, from the first snowfall to the last. We might get a full nine this year — our first snow is slated for Saturday. Can I come live with you? It won’t make it snow any less, but I bet we’d have a heckuva time!
October 8th, 2009 at 7:28 pm
Postmarc says:
Dammit, my friend, it is what we get for living in this meterologically-challenged portion of the country.
October 10th, 2009 at 9:22 am
Gypsy says:
I’m feeling just the opposite. Or almost. Down here in the FLA it’s just unbearably hot. Too hot to think, to write, to muse. I feel autumn(ish) around the corner and am just starting to feel hopeful again.
I hope this winter isn’t as you dread it will be. I hope it’s light and cozy.
October 12th, 2009 at 9:42 am
Miss Britt says:
Go to a tanning bed. Right now. Because that cold, heavy darkness is a BITCH.
October 12th, 2009 at 11:48 am
Knucklehead! says:
The mere mention of Norman Rockwell evokes certain images of fall, and childhood, and Americana. It’s hard to explain, but it’s kind of a “circle of life” type thing. “Norman Rockwell” has evolved into something Norman Rockwell would have illustrated beautifully.
Does that make sense?
October 12th, 2009 at 3:09 pm
bejewell says:
Is that smiling thing was Facercize is all about?
October 12th, 2009 at 7:17 pm
Darcy says:
I just stumbled upon this blog and LOVE your work! Your words are thick and smart and lovely.
Strikes a note today i was thinking of the same things in my post…the changing of the seasons, turn turn turn.
Except in So. Cal it’s more fall than winter right now…
October 13th, 2009 at 2:45 pm
won says:
Oh…the messy sludge.
It, as well as your words, resonate within.
October 13th, 2009 at 3:21 pm
Mama Zen says:
Yeah, it’s getting darker here, too. Figuratively and literally.
October 14th, 2009 at 1:45 pm
Lisa @ Boondock Ramblings says:
You have to look at it as another season in your life. It will be OK. There are good things about winter too. I’m not sure what, but I’ll come back and tell you later. Um…well, I can say there is hot chocolate, throwing snow balls at the neighbor kids when they aren’t looking, watching “flatlanders” drive in the snow, and cuddling under a blanket to read a good book.
My mom is from the south and she used to dread winter up here…she would slip into a deep depression, but then she said she realized that no matter the weather around her, the early darkness, she still had family, she still had love, and she still had her faith in God.
Come blog with us when you need to!
October 15th, 2009 at 5:14 pm
jerseygirl89 says:
That was so powerful and well-written. It also explained my feelings much better than I ever could, as I turn the heater up too high in denial.
October 17th, 2009 at 8:16 am