Thursday, February 13, 2014

#polarvortexproblems



You ever have one of those days when you just don’t want to think about anything? Like, you try really hard to think about algebra or the intense creepiness of Supernatural Sam/Dean fan fiction or puppies but instead your brain just makes a low whirring noise? That would be me today. My brain has been sputtering occasionally but it’s mostly white noise up there. I am thinking perhaps it has frost bite.

Snow days were more fun when I was a kid and I didn’t have to use up my paid vacation time in order to stay home where it is warm and there is slightly less risk of being involved in a car accident. Back then I didn’t have to deal with call-out guilt either. Nothing ruins a sick or snow day quite like call-out guilt. To combat that guilt I decided I was going to be productive.

I was prepared. I had a list of topics that I wanted to blog about.

I looked at the list and then looked at my computer, and the blinking cursor of judgment, and then back at the list. And I realized that I just have no desire to think today. I care about all of these topics enough to have written them down so that they would not be lost in the dusty corridors of my feeble brain and here I am, sitting on my couch with the leisure to write about them for hours and hours if I like. And yet….




I keep looking out the window at the snow that just won’t quit. It feels like it’s been snowing for about two years and, much like the Congressman who had concerns about too many troops causing Guam to tip over, I am worried about my poor little island giving in and sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic or perhaps floating off somewhere. That’s how islands work, right? Too much weight and we lose our structural integrity and become unmoored. Right? I’m thinking Long Island is just about ready for that. And spring just feels so far away. Maybe we’ll float off somewhere warm and I’ll want to go outside again. Or maybe we’ll be the new Atlantis. Do you think they’ll be wi-fi in New Atlantis?








When all else fails, cook. How bout some Drunken Tofu Scramble to combat that call-out guilt?





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