Today I wondered if I was actually still in the here and now, getting through another tedious weekend in upstate New Hell, or if perhaps I had already been committed weeks ago. It was a frigid and grey morning. It was snowing (of course). My husband comes and goes, saying he's going to work, but it might just be that visiting hours have ended.
Am I really looking at this 10 day forecast on my weather app and crying, or am I actually nicely sedated, swiping the surface of a deck of cards believing it's my iPhone? I am not too sure. I hope my hair looks good at least. They'd allow me a round styling brush, certainly. Who put these tube socks on me?
Before anyone gets too worried, I'll say that I am fairly certain I'm not institutionalized right now - but dammit, shit is getting rough. Even the kiddo isn't motivated to be outside. I don't blame him. There's nothing but white cold death out there, waiting to eat us up.
Everything I do to pass the time is a reminder that I'm trying to pass the time. This will go on until Spring. This is the hardest stretch of all, and I am getting weaker with each passing winter.
Someone tell me a really dirty joke, and buy me a drink. Then get on your sled and bring it over. You'll have to sneak it in because I don't think they allow alcohol here.
