I have been thinking a lot about clothes lately.

I think this is because with the arrival of 30 degree weather I have had to purchase a sweater for my 14 pound yorkie-poo who was recently nearly scalped at the groomers because of matted hair. He went from being a ragamuffin dust mop to being a chiseled hunting dog (mini-version) who wears a football letter jacket purchased from Target. Believe me, he understands the difference.

Now as we head out to the lake for a three mile run he saunters and struts. He points at the geese and the squirrels, poses for the female pugs headed his direction, and literally runs circles around me if I am moving too slow, yanking my arm nearly out of my socket. As we cross the street, people point and chuckle--I have to say, "Come on, playa" just to get him to go anywhere.

Unlike my jockified small dog, I see the cold weather as a way to retreat into my clothing. Gone are the days of strolling outside in my bathing suit and a short sun dress to head to the lake for some reading and sun consumption. Instead I am scowling at my tank tops still hanging in the closet. I am ready for snuggling and sweaters and, god forbid, snow.

I can't bare the skin right now. I can't bare the soul. I am tired of exposing both. I want to wrap my psyche up in warm blankets, cover my skin in cashmere, nurse the wounds of telling all and retreat into an emotional cocoon. 

Summer represents a time of freedom, liberation, and expression. I shrug off clothes because I can't stand the heat. Likewise, I expose my emotions, confess feelings, and describe moods to old friends, potential loves, and questioning family members. Later, like a sun burn, I feel the sting of over-exposure, the uncomfortable irritation of having said too much.

I am ready to be done with all that. Time to wrap my heart back up in a hoodie sweatshirt.