It is gray, and sad, and stormy. The rain alternately pounds the windows and drizzles abjectly down on our bedraggled chickens.
It's one of those days that usually makes me feel warm and cozy, eager cuddle up with a hot water bottle, to read a good book and sip a cup of something.
Today, however, is a day to be grouchy, pessimistic, and cynical (the last two are NOT the same, just conveniently similar). A day to wear lots of black and eye makeup and talk in a slow, defeated voice.
Even my cat has taken refuge indoors, no doubt confused by the very confusing weather: Yesterday, it was sunny, slightly humid, and 69 degrees in the shade (though there wasn't a lot of it). Today, it is thoroughly dismal and dreary, forlorn and 42.
What ever has happened to our sub-tropical climate? Has El Ninio finally moved against us? Have the Snow Gods had a change of heart? Or maybe we'll wake next morning to find that it was just a fluke, or maybe a nasty trick played on us by those Floridians...
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2 comments:
if you're feeling pessimistic, you should try to get your hands on a copy of the unabridged journals of sylvia plath, perfect rainy-day reading.
also, perhaps it would make you feel better to know that i have two giant bags of clothes waiting for you?
that's what i thought.
I love you. Madly. You and your trash bags know that, don't you?
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