It's Too Cold

The calendar says it's late March. The snow falling from the sky begs to differ.


It's the Winter That Will Not End. It has been cold, it still is cold, and it will stay cold for centuries to come.


This is the winter where I can't force myself to go back outside once I come home. Even when my house is on fire. Actually, especially when my house is on fire.


It's the winter where I eat everything in sight, in hopes that the process of digestion will incrementally raise my body temperature.


This is the winter where I've yet to go more than two consecutive hours without a fresh cup of coffee, even when I'm sleeping.


It's the winter where I can't change out of my office clothes when I get home because those five seconds in my underwear put me at risk of hypothermia.


It's the winter where the highlight of my day is burning my skin in the shower.


This is the winter that still going on, even in the spring.


There's no sun in this winter. There's a vague hint of gray light from the distance, but it isn't bright enough to be more than an unusually large flashlight.


Once every two weeks or so, winter will disappear for a day, only to roar back with a vengeance the next day as part of some cruel practical joke. Winter is laughing just thinking about the idea.


If Winter is really an old man, he's the kind of cranky old geezer who likes that he's driven us all just a little bit crazy. He's like the distant uncle who stays a few extra days after the rest of the family has cleared out after the holidays: he knows you don't really want him there but he's got nothing else to do, so it's December 29th and he's still crashing on your couch. Except in this case, it's March 25th, and he's still here. 


This winter has been a brutal slog where every day is more miserable than the last. I'm reasonably sure that Shakespeare proclaimed something else to be "the winter of our discontent," only because he'd never lived through anything like this.


Even my cats are cold. One sleeps on my leg each night and the other plops directly on my crotch. The resulting configuration is painful and paralyzing, but their warmth increases my body temperature half a degree, so I don't complain. At this point, I'm not even entirely sure I'd mind if they peed on me.


It's so cold that a snowman knocked on my door this morning, asking if he could come sit by the fire. I would have let him, but his snow wife was already here doing the same, and I didn't want him to get the wrong impression.


It's so cold that I don't unload my groceries when I come home from the store. I just leave them in the car in case I want some ice cream on my next drive.


It's so cold here that I saw a group of penguins at the bus station yesterday, shaking their heads in resignation while holding return tickets to the South Pole in their flippers.


It's a real life Narnia here, except for the part where winter gets to end after 100 years.  Allegedly, the Disney movie "Frozen" was released this week, but I swear I've been starring in it for three months straight.


Even with the heater running full blast, I can't keep my house a reasonable temperature. In fact, my hot tea froze over last while I tarried in squirting in a bit of lemon.  


In other words, it's just too cold.


Way too cold.