STD
by
Gail Hightower
Cases
of Snow Triggered Depression take the following course.
The
patient feels depressed and moody -- a condition that grows rapidly
worse until it amounts to acute despondency. At the same time
he is overpowered by physical weariness, not only of the muscles
and sinews, but also of the organic functions, in particular of
the digestion -- so that the stomach refuses food.
The
patient is usually the chief writer and/or editor of a free literary
journal. He or she -- aw hell, let's just say he -- usually
steps onto his front doorstep and either 1) slips on the ice that
has covered the cement overnight; or 2) slips on the little synthetic
white balls that the apartment managers have spread around on
the cement to prevent its freezing.
When
the proper expletives ("damn" for example) have been
offered, the patient re-enters his dwelling, not to emerge again
for the duration.
From
his seat in the kitchen there is a direct line of sight to the
window and the playful waves of snow outside. The patient would
rather not look at this -- he is trying to become engrossed in
a McLuhan book -- but his eyes repeatedly dart upward as if there
were something he could do about what's going on out there.
His
personality is thus fragmented and his self-possession completely
undermined.
Cases
of Snow Triggered Depression take the following course.
When
the fever is at its height, life calls to the patient: calls out
to him as he wanders in his distant dream, and summons him in
no uncertain voice.
That
patient we were just talking about usually says "Yes, life...what
is it?" at this point. Life never answers, except with that
annoying cutesy little life-shrug. That's life, as they say.
Submission
Editor's Note: Gail didn't really write this piece. She couldn't.
I wrote it, me, Mattie Lefou!. If you live in one of the three
"Me Head cities" that are presently being subjected
to freezing rain/snow, and if you've read Buddenbrooks recently
or carefully, then maybe you can relate.
