Blue Monday, you say?
I get it. I so get it.
Yes, yes. I know of late we have been a wee bit spoiled weather-wise, and I don’t have too much reason to complain. It has been mostly mild around these parts, with weather reaching all-time winter record high temperatures. But something has shifted over the last week or so, and as my children constantly run outside to check the skatability status of our backyard rink, I sit in front of the fireplace and beg them to close the door behind them, chilled completely to the bone.
Honestly, I mostly just want to crawl under the covers and hibernate until the spring, which in Toronto, really doesn’t show up until the first week of June.
We pretend, of course, when March comes around and then April and then May and the calendar (and Facebook and Twitter) tells us that we should be able to take off the turtlenecks and pull out the cute sundresses and the flip flops. But in reality, it’s cool and cold straight through the entire month of May.
My geriatric circulation and I live in the wrong climate. I want to spend time outside, frolicking. I want to use my camera. I want pedicures to be worth the time and money. I want to skip the vitamin D supplement. I want to NOT need special gloves that allow me to use my phone when it’s cold.
Instead, these days, I’m doing everything in my power to stay indoors, under many, many layers of wool.
I bake—because the heat of the oven warms my old bones, and because the delicious carb-filled goodness provides comfort. See also: grilled cheese.
I voluntarily do the laundry. Poorly.
I have surfaces littered with half-finished hand-warming tea and coffee mugs.
I laugh in the face of winter activities on account of the possibility of hypothermic extremities.
I embrace the winter blahs instead of trying to beat them. And I count down the days until
March April May June.