I've re-read "Winter: Notes from Montana" by Rick Bass for the fifth or sixth time. He's got me worried about winter; his purposely vague and dreary depictions of consecutive negative-forty-degree January days, how they wear you down physically and mentally, legitimately scare me. He was seventy miles west of here, near Idaho, but we're at the same latitude. His story was only fifteen years ago, not one hundred fifty. Most importantly: We're in the same state. I'm a little worried ... not for my security or safety, but my sanity. We're not the same, though; there are differences between him and I. He didn't have electricity; I do. He had to saw for his winter warmth; I don't. But, worse, or worst, I don't have a girlfriend; he did. I love Cody, but legitimate dialogue between us is strained at best ...
Today was the first frost; a thin sheet of ice on the dog bowl ...
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