Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Winter? Or season of frosty discontent?
Two weeks ago, I cracked.
I had my annual existential crisis that is brought on, like clockwork, by the seriously horrible, dismal, never-ending days of wet, cold, dreary, blustery, icy, frozen, hurts-to-breathe cold winter.
Put another: Winter can suck it.
But, instead of taking my own advice, I have instead chosen to spend the past two weeks wallowing and avoiding the world, which, for the record, is one of the many things I am skilled at.
Consequently, my kitchen is filled with crusty wine glasses and dishes, dirty socks are everywhere except the sock drawer, I have spent whole weekends without leaving the house for much other than church and I have filled my Facebook page with bitchy status updates. ("Noodles thinks you might be a nice person, but is going to assume that you are a puppy-eating psychopath since you didn't bother to shovel and de-ice your sidewalk. Asshole.")
But even moping gets old. Which is kind of where I am now. (Did you know you can be bored with being bummed? I didn't.) Except now, I'm sick of snow and ice and three-digit gas bills and picking rock salt out of my carpets while surrounded by a stacked pile of needs-to-be-washed jammies and a dog who has taken to carrying a Scrabble tile holder around the house like it's her new bff.
Who wants to make me a stiff fruity drink served with an umbrella?