The problem with having so many outdoor hobbies and also living in a city that is frozen solid for four months of the year comes down to the problem of January.

January sucks in that regard.

I could suck it up, of course, and go out winter hiking or put on my cross country skis and check out any groomed trails. Sure. Those are real options. But then too, the sidewalks are dangerously too icy to run on, it’s tough to sketch with thick winter gloves on, and driving anywhere further than the local rec centre is literally gambling with the probability of a traffic accident.

The days are short and cold.

The nights are long and dull.

The holidays full of people and parties is nearly another whole year away.

And one’s new years resolutions, stated or otherwise, hang in the air like a delicate snowflake that is ready to melt the minute you reach out and touch it.

It’s not really all that hard to see why January is a month of funk.

I have been trying to counter the funk in a few ways.

I have been writing, which more than resulting in a few quiet hours in a cafe or at my desk, makes me feel like I’m accomplishing at least some minor thing that is mostly under my own control. Also, it gives me an excuse to play on a computer and tap away on a keyboard which is a weird sort of comfort zone and familiarity for me.

I have been playing with sound. Over the last few years I have acquired various microphones, recorders, synth generators, software, and the cables to hook them all together. Couple that with a decade of playing the violin and starting to better understand music theory, and I can jam without actual notes in front me and create in ways that are better (if only slightly) than noise. Also, it’s mentally chill.

I have been coding. Admittedly I’ve been doing not nearly enough coding, but I have been working to keep my code skillz sharp as I can by dabbling in silly little projects and poking at my existing little projects.

And I have been reading. Reading is one of those things that if you get it and do it there is usually no need to explain or justify it—and if you are not a reader of books, you’ll never understand the thirst of the page anymore than you’ll understand why a runner craves the trail or an actor craves the stage.

The funk of January persists despite all of this, of course. We spend too much time trapped in the house together. We spend too much time reading the disturbing news barfing across our southern border. We spend too much time wasted on waiting for time to pass until the weather is more cooperative.

January kinda sucks, even if usually we simply