This one’s not so cozy. For that, I apologize.
I am craving joy and coziness and am having trouble finding them amidst this sticky July heat on the east coast and the healthy habits that I’ve started to get used to. My reading material of late evokes feelings opposite of coziness thanks to the haunting story-spinning of the talented Stephen King. His images seep into my dreams in the quiet, dark night and rest upon my chest like the Nightmare in Henry Fuseli’s painting.
The family house in rental season is reminding me of past triggers that have caused my brain wires to overheat and shut down, but at least the place won’t actually try to devour me- right? I, myself, am ravenous for a cold breeze that lasts a week or more and a sweater that’s (hopefully) a little too big now.
I want to shut off the overactive mode of my imagination for a while and get a sense of what it’s like to feel calm in my own head for a prolonged period of time. I have a surplus of time and should be calm. And somehow, I seem to collect disquietude as a hobby in the summer.
Movement and fresh, dry air are the best medicine, but the air is wet and stagnant outside and hums with curious insects. Walking inland is endurable but not pleasant in this heat and walking by the ocean coaxes the sand fleas from where they’ve burrowed in the cemented shoreline as each new wave draws close.
Inside there is AC and writing to be done, tea to be brewed, and books Stephen King didn’t write. I’ll crack one of those open tonight like a cold drink and lock the nightmares out of the bedroom before my head sinks to the pillow. A healthy dose of sleep and sweet enough dreams- all I need to lighten the irrational burdens of summer.
cozy does it 