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?
1 comment:
Dude. Get out of the house. Even if it's just to go visit someone or to go wallow at the coffee shop. Or, have friends over to your place. That keeps you from having to leave, but will make you feel better.
Grab your bootstraps. Don't make me come up there and smack you around.
Love, the MG
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