It is fucking cold already.
I'm un-showered, and I must wait to shower until after my jog. It might be awhile; it takes much effort for me to put on my white tennis shoes and sweats and to step out into the outside air that breathes far too cold for early November. The sun is shining, making it all the more brisk. I have no motivation but for legs that are growing far too large for twenty.
Soon it will be "so cold no fire can warm me." January, February. They are worst. We can harly go anywhere, the chill chews past however-many socks to feed on stiff toes. 'tis not enjoyable.
If winter here lasted but two to three months I would embrace it with mittens!
It Lasts 'bout four, sometimes more.
I spat. I will build wings like the crazies and fly south. Maybe later. For now, let it snow--let it not convince my already lacking (exercise) motivation--but let it snow.
I have just completed "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin. I recommend it to all literature lovers--especially those who scribble notes in the margins.
Soon it will be "so cold no fire can warm me." January, February. They are worst. We can harly go anywhere, the chill chews past however-many socks to feed on stiff toes. 'tis not enjoyable.
If winter here lasted but two to three months I would embrace it with mittens!
It Lasts 'bout four, sometimes more.
I spat. I will build wings like the crazies and fly south. Maybe later. For now, let it snow--let it not convince my already lacking (exercise) motivation--but let it snow.
I have just completed "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin. I recommend it to all literature lovers--especially those who scribble notes in the margins.