I’ve mentioned this before, but as the temperatures drop and the sun sets in mid-afternoon, I tend to hole up in my apartment. And I mean really hole up. It doesn’t help that my English Basement lends itself to a cove-like habitat, with my turret basement bedroom acting as the perfect nesting ground. After a rather productive summer of running in Rock Creek Park, walking all over God’s green DC, and spending as much time outside as humanly possible (mosquito bites be damned), I’m finding myself more and more drawn to the dark subterranean corners of my urban cave. The vicious five day (ish) rainy, frigid weather this past week did not help my inclination to burrow deep into my couch, curl up in a ball with Hulu and a six pack of pumpkin ale, and wait it out until spring. I generally support temperate climates, as I find year-round sun particularly dull. But for me, winter and fall bring a certain element of separation from society that, now that I’ve recognized it, makes me slightly nervous. Is urban hibernation a common phenomenon and if so, is it really healthy to hole oneself up for an extended amount of time?

When I was younger it was much easier to tuck myself away and hold off until April. Growing up in a newly built suburban neighborhood, it was easy to get into a winter routine of going from home to school to work to home. Without a car, it was almost impossible to get around. By the time I was seventeen and the glory of the first year of driving had faded, I found myself more and more inclined to just stay at home rather than take the two minutes to bundle up and scrape the frost and ice off my grandfather’s hand-me-down Honda sedan. Living the American dream, our house had no less than four television sets, three computers, and one lonely and neglected piano. Add a best friend, my twin brother, who lived across the hall, a younger sister just asking to be teased for sport, and two fairly lenient parents, and you have a recipe for extreme winter separationism.

Today, I live a very different lifestyle. I don’t have a car and I don’t plan on buying one anytime soon (although I love me some zipcar!). Instead of living in a self-contained suburban two story house with the perk of a finished basement, my home is itself the basement of rather old Victorian home turned apartment building. I have bars on my windows that work to complement my climate-induced prison. The plates on which I usually eat dinner are larger in size than the screen of my roommate’s second-hand television, through which we are stealing cable. My twin brother lives miles away in another city and my sister is caught in the throes of high school, too busy to socialize with her older un-hip brothers. I cannot find a piano to play for the life of me. All of this cries for a change in lifestyle that, despite my best efforts, I seem to be avoiding. Instead of taking the subtle hints that I strategically placed around me in my new adult life, this dog apparently will not learn new tricks. Over the past week I’ve found myself prey to several new television programs that are now back in season. This has resulted in me hunched over my computer, watching Jim and Pam’s wedding from The Office over and over and cursing my unreliable internet connection at the first sign of any buffering. In the last three days, I’ve made an unhealthy number of runs to my local market to pick up sugar, butter, and then more sugar, as I’ve all of a sudden turned into my grandmother and need a tin of cookies ready at all times. The other night, I simultaneously made a huge pot of lentil soup, three meals worth of penne with Italian soy sausage and spaghetti sauce using homegrown tomatoes, and pumpkin muffins. In fact, this was on a Tuesday, when I am usually exhausted from work and the gym. What has gotten into me?

For now, it seems I’ll have to just come to terms with the fact that I am actually a hybrid raccoon-man and need my seasonal confinement. You may see me out and about, hording baking powder and the occasional case of beer. You might see me scrambling down the street, clutching the latest Economist magazine and a half eaten bagel and coffee. I will probably be excessively bundled up and muttering about how I’m missing that new episode of House Hunters. But seriously, how about you, TNG citizens? Do you have a tendency to go brown bear and hibernate? Or do you find the fall/winter seasons to be the opposite: a time for increased socialization due to being confined indoors? Is it better to be single in the winter or in the summer? What is the best way to escape the nest? Do you notice a significant change in lifestyle as the temperatures drop? Do you have any advice for those wishing to break the hibernation cycle? Would someone please save me from making yet another batch of goddamn muffins?