It took most of the morning for me to stop being excited like a terrier about the frost on the ground--I roamed the office, squeaking, "Ice! Outside!" at everyone I passed. They've all lived in northern climates long enough to develop a much cooler veneer about the winter than I have. While I chased my tail, they bitched about the treacherous commute. And that's really what they get for living in the suburbs.
It's just that, you know, I love my city. And when I woke up this morning and it was out of nowhere sparkling like a sixteen year old who's just gotten her braces off, well, it was more than I could handle.
I've been sneezing all day, which could mean I need a new nose or am allergic to consciousness, but which more than likely means I'm coming down with a cold. As though I have time for colds, what with snow possibly coming to visit.
My mother, ever the bearer of cheerful news, called yesterday to let me know that she was nearly crushed by a falling tree branch during her "I don't celebrate Thanksgiving anymore" camping trip this weekend. I am a well-behaved daughter and so I refrained from telling her that it's what she gets for forsaking her only child's favorite holiday (and only partially because now that she has step-children, that argument doesn't hold as much water).
Tonight's French lesson was canceled and so I've found myself with an unexpectedly free evening. If you need me, I'll be sitting with my nose pressed up against the sliding glass door, waiting for it to start snowing.
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