Stiff one eye to winter and hopes of spring

It's been a helluva long time since I've consistently written on this blog;  I feel like I owe a bit of an explanation.  Life has a funny way of twisting itself around your unmentionables and leading in whatever direction it feels fit on that particular afternoon.  Mostly because of the frost, life has tightened the grip on that piece of anatomical real estate and kept me tethered to the shitty little apartment that I might have mentioned once or twice in the past.  I haven't become a hermit or anything... my routine has just been screwed up.

I used to spend at least 2 or 3 days a week in the coffee shop just on the other side of the academy that pays my bills.  I'd wake up several hours before the beginning of the shift and I'd take the opportunity to overdose on java beans and keep the world abreast of my travels.  I was even getting back into actual writing; nothing spectacular, nothing even really complete, but it was something more than the narcissism  and "look at me" ego stroking that every blog on the face of the planet has become at some point.  Fiction was always where I preferred to dip my wick and it was beginning to feel a bit like home again.  Then, it got cold.

Leaving my apartment

I've traveled around a lot in the US and I've lived in several different states across all seasons.  I've never lived on the water, though, when the temperature drops low enough to keep butter from spreading on hot bread.  The wind coming off the ocean has a way of stabbing at you regardless of layers and the tendency to make men's dress pants thinner than a creationist's argument is enough to make me reconsider my stance on wearing tights.  To make matters worse, the heat doesn't really work in my apartment.  I picked up a space heater, but it does little more than take the bite out of the frost.  In short, I feel less and less motivated to get out of bed and continue my routine.  They say it takes forty days to form a habit, but it only took a few weeks of frigid air to shatter mine. 

February is here and the world keeps teasing with the threat of spring, but then the sun goes down and I'm painfully reminded that short sleeves and a light jacket was a shitty idea when I walk home 4 hours after the light's gone out.  This month used to offer a sense of excitement and anticipation for me.  My birthday's on the 25th and it always felt like a beacon through the gloom.  It was like the entire world was congratulating me for making it through the longest 'short' month in existence... and, to top it off, they brought bitchin' presents.  Now I just get to look forward to being another year older.  The presents come in the form of an errant gray hair or two, a few wrinkles and the realization that I will never again be as young as I am right now.  Who needs a drink?

Fuck you, Winter... Summer is Coming