It was a drizzley, grizzley day, but more than that, it was cold. It’s the kind of day that would depress me to no end if it occurred in June, July or August, but somehow in September it seems to slip past me, escaping the abuse I would normally have for anything below 75 degrees and sunny. And anyway, I spent some time last year defending the winter as something charming and novel, if not wholly enjoyable. Who am I anymore? Post-California winters have done less to damage my spirit. And in fact today, once I got over the initial shock of the drop in temperature, once I resigned myself to a long, hot shower and then curled up on the couch with a blanket, I caught myself looking forward to winter, as if it were my new guilty pleasure. Who am I anymore? I’m looking forward to the day that our landlord turns the heat on and my bedroom turns back into an incubator. I’m looking forward to a scarf and mittens. Who am I anymore? This summer was too short, but it was hot enough to make everyone else complain, which means that it was perfect. I’m done complaining about the weather. Heaven will be 85 degrees with a hot breeze–I’m content to wait for that.
Thursday, September 4th, 2008