A Loss For Words?

Well, it was bound to happen. I'm sure you've noticed the dearth of blogs this month. I've been feeling very guilty about disappointing my faithful readers. Usually, I'm mulling over multiple topics, therefore, this mental constipation is very frustrating to say the least. There's a name for it - "Seasonal Affective Disorder" or SAD (cute). No doubt big pharma has several drugs they'd like to shove down our throats to treat it. It generally hits me this time of year. The holidays are over and we're well into the doldrums. The effect on my cerebellum is cumulative, resulting in a kind of "mind lock" (no, Spock did a mind-MELD!). From the time I wake up I feel like I'm just phoning it in, going through the motions but not really there. I don't expect the Floridian Omegans among us to understand, and I'm not ready yet to make the great Yiddish migration, although I kvetch enough to qualify. This is an annual affliction, a brain-fog much like the one described in "Joe and the Volcano" (one of Tom Hanks' worst, IMHO).

The only time I get a brief respite is when Max and Jack visit me. No, they're not partners in a Kosher deli, they're my four year old grandsons. When they're at the house and I start playing with them, I feel the weight of winter lifting. They're usually up at 7am, and Grandpa is waiting for them in his pajamas and robe, comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair. Every inch of the floor is covered with trains and favorite toys. And I'm a kid again. As silly as they get, I get even sillier. Their laughter is my sunshine, my only sunshine, they make me happy when skies are gray (OK, those last few words weren't mine, but they seemed appropriate). I would apologize for my shameless kvelling if didn't know there are so many grandparents in the group. I offer it here because, for me, it perfectly illustrates my point; that I am, like DiNiro in "Awakenings", in a state of suspended-imagination, revived only by the occasional sweet stimuli.

Hmmmn. I think I've just written a blog about not writing blogs. Seems the process itself might be impetus enough. And now, I'll slip back into my somnambulistic perambulation until next Spring. Or the next blog.