Oddly enough, Florida and New Jersey (and probably a few other lucky states out there right now) have opted to trade places on the ever-unpredictable and duplicitous device called the thermometer. Last time I checked, Floridians weren't supposed to be dressing for a date with Jack Frost while our neighbors far to the north are enjoying a decidedly more temperate (though still chilled, I admit) outing. According to some lucky lady I heard on the radio this morning, her neck of the woods up in Jersey were enjoying temps upwards of 55, while my car was registering a frosty 32.
Yup, you read that right.
It was cruel.
As you've gathered by now, I hate winter and the thermometer dips that accompany it. It seems to zap my enthusiasm for the day (and any foreseeable future period of low temps), making me tense and a grumpier version of myself than I'd like to see. I'm melancholy, rather than hopeful.
If I had my way, the winter blues and blahs wouldn't have any effect on me, but I seem to be extremely susceptible to the season.
I guess that would make me a SAD case, huh?
Maybe changing that should be on my aspirations for this year.
Hmmm. If only I had a switch I could flip.
Wouldn't that be nice...like a warming flicker on the flame of a gas fireplace, something to thaw out my blues. I could march out into the chilly air without the mental and emotional cringe that accompanies every blast of cold.
Oh, if only it could be so simple.
For now, as I try to keep my little grey cells from turning blue, I'll have to bundle up and fake that smile til I make it. Maybe somewhere along the line, I'll figure out how to make my grimace into a grin––a genuine one. Maybe Jack Frost will decide he doesn't care to see us anymore and continue to date other women around the country.
For now, we'll all do our weird little dance through the whipping cold air and look forward to warmer temps to come...somewhere...maybe Cupid will ping some flaming arrows this way...
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