Only enough energy to complain

All in all, the first three months of this winter weren't too bad, so even if the next three months of winter are harsh, we really have nothing to complain about. But I will anyway.

It's not a secret; I'm no fan of winter. If I had my way, we'd have a month of it and a month of high-summer and the rest would be spring and fall. This time of year I imagine a Shangri-La exists, possibly somewhere in the mountains of New Mexico, where the weather is like this all year.

Pam Burke

I know what you're thinking, "Why do you still live here?" and you're right to ask that question, but I can't quit this state.

Unfortunately, I can't seem to quit this state of late-winter doldrums either.

I get tired of the cold, the bleak colorlessness, the lack of holidays that provide a paid day off. Blah, blah, blah. What's there to be enthused about?

Blah is me.

Last night my husband and I had this conversation:

Him: What's for supper?

Me: I don't know … I suppose I could thaw a roast.

Him: It's 5:30.

Me: Wha—? Oh. Hmmm … whatever.

We negotiated our way into a breakfast for dinner meal, and when the final decision between pancakes or crepes fell to me, I hemmed and hawed and finally went with pancakes.

I like the crepes better, but there's, like, five whole ingredients in them. That's five containers that I not only have to drag out of the cupboard or fridge, but also put away. Plus, one of the ingredients is eggs — two of them — so technically the shells constitute two more containers that have to be dealt with.

It seemed entirely too involved.

Pancakes, on the other hand, have two ingredients — the batter mix and water — and I don't even have to put the water away. This was obviously the least exhausting, least complex option.

That's what winter does to me.

The only bright spot in this bleak season is the recent milestone we passed on our long, cold, life-sucking march into longer days. As of this week, the sun is now rising before 8 a.m. and setting after 5 p.m.

It's a sign, clear evidence that soon, not real soon, but somewhere in the foreseeable future soon, the sun will burn long enough and high enough in the sky that it will thaw the earth, and we will be inundated with the smells of fresh mud, budding green plants and thawed poop.

Bliss.

The day after that I will start complaining about the excessive heat.