Dog Bites and Bee Stings

It is 9:47 in the morning on a Saturday in December and the snow is falling hard in Buffalo. There is an emotion inside of me that I’d like to tell you about. Have you ever felt this way?

It is really cold and snowy, and the outside world would take some effort to move to. It is early and it feels too bright and I am hungry. Hunger is a dark emotion, contrasting with the light, so already I feel out of place. I don’t have food except for some uncooked rice and my rice cooker is dirty right now so I would have to clean the rice bowl with water that would start out as super duper cold and then I would make the rice and it would all feel like I am in a shelter living in the end times and that’s what Buffalo winters are like for me. 

It feels like I am pressing against a flat, very hard and cold metallic surface and I am looking for warmth and comfort and finding none in my present surroundings. I have just a bit of warmth left inside of me to get by on, but I am huddled around it and I know it is insufficient, the same feeling as trying to curl up on the ground and sleep under a blanket that is just a bit too small. It doesn’t feel like enough but, once persevered through, gives way to “enough”: a great meal and a huge, heavy blanket.