I like winter and snow and crisp air and Jack Frost nipping at my nose while roasting my “chestnuts” over an open fire, oh baby,
but all this cold is getting ridiculous.
It hasn’t been above freezing in well over a week, so says my damn paper, missing the point. Er, Mr. Newspaper, it has barely been above ZERO, let alone freezing, in over a week. Yesterday’s high was a whopping 7 degrees. The day before it was -5.
I was all digging it at first: “Fuck yeah, cold!”
Everywhere I went in this town, though, that’s all people were talking about: “Boy, it’s cold!”; “This cold is incredible!”; “Cold enough out there for ya?”; “When I woke up this morning I couldn’t even see how cold it was because the very air between my window and the thermometer on the porch post was frozen solid!”
And so on.
A drunk froze to death the other night, stumbling home. They had to pour hot water all over him to get him to unstick from the ground.
*insert stomach-churning, velcro-like tearing sound here*
My dogs are miserable. Like, mentally. They are bored out of their minds. They race outside, make a fecal or urinary deposit, then race back in. Then they climb back on the couch and resume being bored out of their minds, looking at me the whole time like this is all my fault. Seriously, I can feel their eyes burning into the back of my neck as I write this.
“What did you do, Mike?” those eyes seem to be asking.
My cat is going off the deep end, too. It’s much more notcieable with her, since, being a cat, she’s already half-nuts. She will be walking across the floor, all languid and cat-like, then BOOM! she’ll just take off running at breakneck speed, running to nowehere, running for no reason, room to room, up the walls, running like she’s being pursued by 10,000 hungry hell hounds. Then, just as suddenly, she’ll stop, lick herself, and resume languidly walking.
“What did you do to the cat, Mike?” my dogs’ eyes implore.
She has even begun using her litter box because, fuck that shit, she will NOT step foot outside.
So, I am officially sick of the cold. I retract my earlier devil’s horns: /w\
Tomorrow, according to the paper, however, we’re going to have a heatwave: 20 degrees. Wee! Bring on da flip-flops and Hawaiian shirts, everybody, it’s barbecue time!
*note to self: pick of those little drink umbrellas*