You see, I met my annual Waterloo on Friday — the gruesome head-on collision with Fall and long pants and assorted seasonal unpleasantries. It was rainy; it was blustery; it was cold; it was a punch in the heart. Denial had lost its power. I pouted, of course, did a fair amount of sulking and grumbling, shook an angry fist at the ugly gray sky and threw myself onto the sofa. A dull lethargy settled over me and I stared off into space.
My eyes, however, eventually wandered to an L.L. Bean catalog and my spirits soared. Comfort was at hand. I snatched the catalog off the table and my imagination went to work. Maybe, just maybe, I could buy my way to happiness. It was worth a try, anyway. So I got down to business, searching websites and catalogs, ordering sweaters and coats and pants like a crazy person. If something promised warmth and / or coziness, I wanted it. Pronto. Or sooner.
When I returned to my senses, hundreds of dollars later, I was utterly content. Extravagant spending isn’t smart or advisable, I know, but it sure was fun. Besides, I’ll be punished with four long months of abject misery whether I overspend or not, so I might as well do something to deserve it. That’s how I rationalized my shopping spree, anyway.
My old strategy, throwing my hands up and diving under the bedcovers, had never been all that successful, frankly. I was forced to live like a shut-in and confinement is perhaps a greater villain than polar vortices. I prefer this new way: lobbing great choking gobs of money at the problem. I’m going to add wallowing this year, as well. Winter, I’ve decided, is a good time to indulge in a little decadence. I’ll drink hot cocoa. I’ll read books. I’ll watch movies, wear fluffy socks, eat cinnamon toast, take naps and bubble baths.
More importantly, I’ll search for an answer. The question I‘ll be pondering is: why does winter last for decades, while summer flies by like it was shot out of a cannon? Life is just harsh.
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