Hey Steemians!

Today I wanted to write another music post, but as I was writing I felt like writing a little short story and decided I would share.

Hope you enjoy :)

Of Cold and Comfort

Mornings have quickly established themselves as the most enjoyable part of the day in winter, at least for me. I get up, feel the cold of the world on my not yet fully clothed skin and take a moment to realize, “Damn, it feels good to be alive.” There's a sort of boost in work ethic that comes from sitting in the cold; With Jack Frost biting at your toes you tend to want something to focus on.

But it's not just the cold, I've been testing out all of the temperature settings that I have to figure out what I like most for what situation and combining this with timed window openings for the fresh airflow. Indeed, the scientific method always proves itself effective.

So now I wake up, open the window, because I tend to have it closed during the night due to noise, and try to judge how much I need to adjust the heater to where I can just barely hold out in the nude, before throwing on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. There's a fine line between 'so cold that I need to focus on something else' and 'so cold that I can't focus on anything else'.

And there I sit – 3... 4... 5 hours – at some point simply amazed I haven't contracted a cold yet, but It works. I can work. The cold slays the beast known as procrastination and shoves me into the harsh reality of reality and pushes me to do what I want.

But then I knock on the door inside my mind searching for ideas, for answers and solutions to the things that pester me. Creativity isn't home yet, he doesn't enjoy the cold either. He hides in his room awaiting the embrace and warmth that comes with turning the thermostat up and cares not for my desires and wishes and reasonings to pull him out.

He just waits. Waits for comfort. But comfort belongs to laziness. When in comfort he sends his minions to hack the inner workings of my rationality, pushing me to do things I don't want to do. I remain horrified at his existence, a sort of looming giant a midst the otherwise barren landscape of my mind. Yet, he holds creativity captive in his domain, not letting me use my greatest asset without moving through his territory.

So I venture, in and out of comfort doing my best to evade the giant while searching for the prisoner. The air smells sweet and the ground feels warm, but I come here with a purpose and am not tainted by these thoughts. That is, until temptation rears its' ugly head. He is cunning and stealthy, sly and mischievous. He makes the ground warmer and the air sweeter, the breeze more refreshing and the clouds slower. The wind carries his whispers to my ear and they bury themselves in the most vulnerable parts of my being, eating away at my insecurities, but still I persist, because I am here for a reason.

Temptation has friends and as they hear his whispers, they too, come to join him. Addiction hears him and reminds me of the things I once enjoyed. Doubt says that there is no way to save the captive and even if I did, what would it accomplish? Anxiety comes and shows me all that I haven't done in the past. They drain my energy and my being, making my feet heavy and my mind slow, but still I persist, because I am here for a reason.

I come across the terrain, worn and weary, fading in and out of my awareness for the things happening in and around me and before I fully realize it, the giant stands before me. Each movement makes the ground tremble, each breath, the clouds disperse and come together again. He stands before me and I before him, once friends, then enemies, then friends again and enemies once more. He knows me no less than I know myself, yet he is a mystery to me. I stare, he stares back. Countless times we have battled on this land and countless times he has won, but today is different.

I sit down and do nothing. He shows me the pleasure of procrastination, but I do nothing. He tells me stories of the future and reminiscences of the past, but I do nothing. He pleads that I embrace the comfort and accept it's warmth, but I do nothing. He is mighty, but not enduring. His power holds only while I act on his requests. He begs that I move into ease, but I do nothing.

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And he speaks no more. I hear nothing. I see nothing. But I feel. I feel the energy that I have in my being. I feel the way my environment breathes. I feel the spark of an old friend. Creativity has returned.

And there I am before the door once more, now opened. And there I am at my thermostat, ready to turn it back down. I am at my desk, my problem solved. It is cold once more, for I can't defeat the giant, but I can subdue him. I return to my work, productive once more.