Dead of Winter

I feel sluggish. Can't get the chill out of my hands. My mom tells me that as soon as she went through "The Change" she ceased to feel that cold gnawing at her bones each and every winter. So maybe it's part hormonal, as most everything seems to be. Estrogen balance sure is precarious -- one little smidge off and kablowey...you're a cold, raving lunatic who enjoys nothing more than a potato chip and chocolate bar sandwich.

The tiny bit of motivation I muster up on good days dwindles to chronic idleness when the winter drags on. Everything is dead outside. I need signs of life to live life to it's fullest -- I need sprouts sprouting and sun blaring down on my freckled nose. I often wonder if my ancient relatives were desert dwellers. I'd thrive in such a climate. Living on the West Coast was like utopia. The East Coast outdoors has perks, no doubt...but it doesn't feed my soul the same way a drier climate does.

We're indoors mostly and fresh air is in limited quantities. Every few weeks some plague or other -- head cold or stomach flu -- bears down on our home and makes us all wish we had never been born. Yes, I'm being overly dramatic, but tell me...when your sinuses feel like they're ready to explode or you stomach lurches in pain, don't you also wish to be taken out of your misery?

Mark my words. When the season does change and we can finally say Sayonara to this record-breaking craptastic winter, I will be posting cheerier rants.

Pinky swear.