Be it Ozempic, my usual holiday time hibernation, a sustained period of boredom and loner melancholy, or a combination, quite likely, of all three, and it's to explain my current state of Mind.
I sleep when I sleep, I wake when I wake, and sometimes it's hard to tell which is which.
Like a zombie, I meander through the hours of each day and each night, through a miasmic fog which deeply penetrates what's left of my soul with each pallid breath.
Am I now experiencing the truth and substance of what it means to be retired? Got to say, if so, it ain't all that bad. Color Me Zombie.
I barely know what it's like outside my four walls anymore. Only through the glowing eyes of my computer's two monitors do I see the world. And it looks like the zombification goes far beyond the confines of my Shamrock Shack.
I'm sure this season will somehow make way for another someday. Until then, I clickity clickety on my palm-sized chunk of plastic, judging the universe. I listen lazily in a dreamlike state to the low woo woo of the early morning CSX train making its way through the dark forests of orange trees on the yonder side of Lake Jackson. I cringingly wait for the call of the humans on either side of me, the entirely random wha wha of the Charlie Brown's mother gibberish pumping out of Mary's trailer or the whir whir of SawBoy's power tools as he enters into a new year of refurbishing his single-wide digs into an interior that surely must rival the grandest chateau of the Loire.
For we are, my friends, ensconced fully in the season of the zombie.