My Hand Is Dry Like A California Pancake

My Hand Is Dry Like A California Pancake

You can see how my winter in Oswego ends so poorly. What a heavy climb it is. Yesterday a March storm dropped a clean white blanket upon us. I woke up happy again, a feeling I hadn’t felt in three months. I called it holiday cheer. If the spring wouldn’t come, at least I was able to rewind winter’s tragedy to its innocent beginnings. While making crepes for breakfast I started to sing “It’s Lovely Weather For a Sleigh Ride Together With You”. In March, singing Christmas carols. Did January and February ever happen? “Where is this coming from?” I wondered. “Have I been asleep all winter?”
More proof to my theory that if man chooses to keep the northland his habitat, he needs to hibernate like the animals. Have I not been practically asleep since January? A rough slumber for sure. My head itched. I got dry scalp and dandruff. My skin got pale. I ate twice as much. I started to think low thoughts. I couldn’t fit into my jeans. Rarely did I step outside. From time to time I glanced out my window to see all life still asleep. I was pushing back despair. I was fighting to stay awake. Why bother? What was there to keep awake for?

Those months were wrong. Everything else was wise enough to play dead. Why must man be so cocky about everything? Even life? Why must he force himself to persevere these terrible winters, when, year after year, he should just curl up and sleep through them instead?
I believe the Oswego man in collaboration with the Santa Barbara man should offer their skulls up to science after death. It would be an interesting and revealing comparison to prove my following hypothesis: Neanderthal is alive and degraded in Oswego, N.Y. Homo Sapien, the thinking man, cheerfully resides in warmer climes, like Santa Barbara. I predict a noticeable difference in shape and structure between the skulls of the two beasts.
The skull of the Oswego man will show a squarer jaw and flatter top, the latter enabling him to properly balance enough weight up there to impede even the most stubborn dream to get up and leave. The Santa Barbara man will show a more rounded skull and less pronounced jowl, most likely shrunken from the advantage of a winter of fresh vegetables to eat and thick green summer grass to cushion his walk.
The jaw of the Oswego man has sixty-two very sharp teeth. Used to tear meat and appear mean even while whimpering like a sad puppy over his supermarket kill. Over a lifetime many of these teeth wore away and needed to be replaced, probably due to the beast’s high intake of New York Strip Steak in winter. The Santa Barbara man has six teeth, one for each small cup of foraged food he took in daily.
The orbital cavities of the skulls bear a marked difference as well. The Oswego man’s are larger, reamed out after many years of winter’s rot on the eyes. This peculiarity happens when a Northern man closes the lids over the eyes too often. Without a pleasant world to look upon, the eyes are purposely kept without sun or exercise. They begin to rot behind the lids, and the rot spreads into the skull bone, evidenced by two significant cracks splitting down past either side of the nose. One good jolt in life would have resulted in Oswego man’s face falling off. Fortunately he was rarely moved, neither by earthquake nor inspiration.
The eye holes of the Santa Barbara man are smaller, showing no evidence of life rot. Most likely the result of a lifetime of keeping his eyes wide open to the sun. A strong squint strengthened the muscle and bone around the eye, to give Santa Barbara man a more secure possession of his face.
In conclusion, this scientist casts measurable doubt upon his own sanity. Being an Oswego man half his life, and a northern man forever, he believes the life rot has already begun to eat into his skull. Therefore, suffering this condition makes it impossible for him to carry out a decent hypothesis, scientifically. So instead he has left both skulls in the middle of the street for the snowplows to crush.

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