It’s been bitter cold for weeks. I say bitter because I am. I’m cold and I’m bitter and I’m repeating myself over and over again.
It’s not even February.
And I’m exhausted from it. I don’t know if I have mono or the winter blues. Is there a difference? These days, it takes wild amounts of coffee to get me going. I come home, get back under the covers, and doze off reading the Times online. I complain too much. I’m not as adventurous. I’m not as happy.
My feet are cold.
The city is no good to my shoes, and my boots are all taking a beating. The ten minute walk from the A/C/E has ruined my favorite brown ones. I’m down to my crappy three-year old faux leather pair from Payless.
I can’t wait for sunburn. I can’t wait for heatrash. I can’t wait for sweaty subway rides.