Butt Burn

We are in the middle of a late season cold snap. Temps fell well below freezing on Monday and according to the 7 day forecast we have at least another week before we reach that magic 32F. It’s winter, it’s Syracuse, it’s cold. This isn’t a shocker. But our resistance is worn down. We aren’t asking for much, we know where we live. We don’t expect 60F in late February. We would be happy with 32F. You wouldn’t hear a peep from us till April.

On top of the cold it seems I’ve developed a bit ‘o the minor depression. It’s been a decade since the void and nothingness of major depression nearly smothered the life out of me. I pray to any and every god that I will never experience anything near to it again. These days I still feel. I feel everything. The feeling hurts. Even the love for my wonderful little boys is the kind that pierces me with pain. Some days joy is mixed in as well. Some days I can’t get there. But I’m grateful for the feeling, for the frequent tears that are constantly threatening. Feeling is infinitely better than nothing.

It’s cold and I’m sad. Which means I spend the majority of my time hunkered down on the heat register next to our fireplace. After a while of sitting directly on the heat it becomes too much and I move around giving my butt a break and warming my legs and hands. I also like to see how much I can bear. It’s a relief to feel too hot. Who cares if my butt hurts a bit?

Our thermostat is set to drop down for the night at 10pm. The register grows cold and I head to our bedroom which holds onto the heat much longer. Last night I was grabbing some water in the kitchen when I noticed my butt felt weird. I grabbed my cheek and felt a rather large bump.

“Z?” I called. “Can you come and look at this?”

He joined me in the kitchen and I pulled down my drawers.

There was a long pause.

“Oh Karen…….Your ass…….oh man.”

“What?” I shrilly demanded, panic rising in my throat. “What’s wrong?”

He started laughing. “It is red. I mean bright red. And the pattern of the register is deeply imprinted. Here, give me your phone. I’ll take a picture and show you.”

I handed it over as body shaking and uncontrollable giggles erupted out of me. I could barely hold still for the picture.

Sweet Mary. The picture. Suddenly my laughter was so out of control I was crying. My ass was scary red. And the rather art deco-ish pattern was ridiculous. I was branding myself with a heat register.

Listen, being I do still posses a small shred of decency the picture was immediately deleted. See? There are lines that I won’t cross. But I’m a little bummed not to share it with you. It really was fucking hysterical.

This morning Z told me if I got cold I should sit on the sofa with a blanket. “Oh yes,” I told him. “Absolutely.”

Guess where I am as I write this post.

The red butt is worth it. Haven’t laughed like that in a while. And man, it felt good. Really good.

heat register

If you need me I’ll be here.

boys do it too

They are only allowed to have brief sits.

bathroom window

Outside our bathroom window last week.

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5 thoughts on “Butt Burn

  1. I feel your pain! All my best “war injuries” are in places I can’t show off – an amazing paintball bruise on a butt cheek, for example, or a bullet shell burn down in my cleavage… damn!

    Stay warm, lady.

  2. It’s cold here in the Mid-Atlantic region and I’ve struggled with a bit o’ the depression here, too – but this post was pretty hilarious and cheering! Thanks for sharing. And I’ve got a pretty good mental picture of the branded butt, so no need for a photo, anyway, lol.

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