After a long day here in Springfield, it’s three in the morning, and one of Anne and Andy’s black cats is staring at me from across the room. I’m guessing she’s wondering what I’m going to blog about tonight, like I know. I swear, sometimes writing is so frustrating. Ninety percent of your time is spent staring at the wall, as if good ideas live in the sheetrock and come out when given “the look.” It honestly feels like waiting on Zac Efron to call. Like, what are the chances? But as a writer, you just keep staring at the wall, trusting that a good idea will eventually present itself, then you can spend the other ten percent of your time actually writing.

Of course, by writing I mean hitting the backspace button.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I noticed was that god had not left a miracle of healing under my pillow. Rather, I still felt anything but fabulous, and to top it all off, the weather outside had turned cold and wet. I honestly don’t know how our ancestors survived before things like medication, central heat and air, and indoor plumbing. That being said, I used to live in an old house with gas heaters, only one of which I kept on all the time. So for months I’d come home and see my breath in the living room or trek down the hallway in the middle of the night to use the bathroom only to be welcomed by a cold toilet seat.

As if that were any way to treat a loyal customer.

Still, even though this isn’t my favorite time of year, I try to suck it up and do the best I can. This morning I threw on an extra shirt, trudged through the rain to my car, and headed out for a session with my ninja massage therapist, Rod. Well, anytime I’ve seen Rod before, he’s worked pretty deep, but today he didn’t–everything was nice and easy. I mentioned the difference when the massage was over, and he said, “I didn’t have to work deep today. Whatever you’re doing–living at home with your parents, I guess–it’s working. Your body likes it.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “I’m always picky as shit when it comes to my body, so maybe I focus too much on what’s wrong.”

“I mean, there’s always stuff to work on,” he said, “but from my perspective you’re doing great.”

For lunch my friend Matt and I went to a tea room across from Anne and Andy’s dance studio. Y’all, everything was flowers, chandeliers, and pink dishes. I’ve never felt so pretty in all my life. If you’re ever on Commercial Street in Springfield, you should look for this place–there’s an actual Mad Hatter’s tea party table that’s been turned upside down and attached to the ceiling! Additionally, the food’s great. Matt had a monte cristo with mushroom soup, and I had a tuna salad stuffed tomato with mushroom soup.

Since I’m on a diet, I was really proud of myself for not eating the bread that came with my meal. You know how it is when you’re on a diet, the way you get all high and mighty. You spend thirty years eating whatever the hell you want, then all of a sudden you find yourself turning your nose up at club cracker, like, I would never. Well, I guess our waitress realized I was exercising my willpower because she brought over a dessert tray that was big enough to park your car on and waved it in front of my nose. Y’all, it was filled with cakes, cookies, and macaroons of every shape and size. I swear, even eating one item would have been enough to turn Jack LaLanne into a diabetic on the spot.

It looked delicious.

Naturally, I thought about ordering half the tray, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “No thank you, I don’t want anything.” I don’t want anything? Y,all, I was just as surprised as you are. I spent the summer eating food truck tacos and drinking better, and now tuna salad without crackers is more than enough to satisfy me? What has happened? I mean, it’s practically winter, I’m freezing over here, and this is no time to be losing valuable body fat, and yet I’m on a diet. Where was all this willpower six months ago during swimsuit season?

After lunch Matt and I worked on Lindy Hop for a couple hours, then I took a long nap. When I woke up I felt like a new man–not perfect, but so much better than this morning. It’s amazing what sleep can do. Tonight the lot of us cleaned up the ballroom downstairs, which was used this evening for a wedding. Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m blogging on the futon, covered up with a blanket and wearing my sock cap to stay warm. My eyes are itchy from the junk or allergies (I guess), and I really, really think we were meant to hibernate at this time of year and not deal with all these irritations.

Seriously, who thought winter sinus infections would be a good addition to life?

For all the time I’ve spent poking around in the spiritual section of bookstores and attending yoga classes, I haven’t had many experiences that you could call mystical, moments of utter bliss and serenity. But I did have one such experience in that old house a couple years ago during the winter–in the middle of the night on a cold toilet seat no less. So there I was, shivering, hating it–then I just stopped. It felt like someone wrapped a thick blanket around my entire body. It’s hard to explain, but my sense was that the cold air itself was alive and holding me, not just in that moment, but in every moment of my entire life. Anyway, it seems now as if I spend a lot of my time waiting–waiting for ideas to show up, waiting on my body to look or feel better, waiting on winter to go away. Like most people, I simply assume life will be better and I’ll be happier when whatever it is happens. But clearly life doesn’t need me to boss it around. Rather, perhaps it’s waiting on me to stop being picky as shit, recognize that more things are going right than are going wrong, and remember that even during my most uncomfortable moments, I’m supported in ways I can’t even imagine.