For the past week, I've been wracking my wee brains, trying to come up with a blog post.
It snowed again this week. Twice. And now, I'm officially sick of reading.
Yes, I said it. And I'd like to pause for a minute, repeat that statement, and think about what it implies.
I. am sick of. READING.
There has been too much snow. Plain and simple. That is what this means.
I can't speak for anyone else on the East Coast, but I'm glad February is a short month and we're rapidly nearing the end of it. Spring fever is going to hit hard this spring. I'll probably be sitting outside in shorts and a tank-top the minute the mercury rises above 40 degrees.
Meanwhile, my circumscribed indoor-life has been limited to 1) talking to my cats, 2) reading for my classes (which may or may not be cancelled at any given moment), 3) knitting, and 4) watching the Olympics.
Occasionally, I mix it up and go out and shovel. Or quickly get groceries before the next round of snow.
In short, I'm beginning to feel seasonally disgruntled and overwhelmingly bored--in that order.
Meanwhile, the Classics Club Spin has been spun and my "must-read" for the next month is #20--Sinclair Lewis' Arrowsmith.
I have mixed emotions about this. I read the book years and years ago, and I remember that I did like it. So that's good. On the other hand, I was kind of hoping the spin wouldn't give me a "re-read."
But it did.
Really, I think it's just Wintertime Blues right now for me. It's cold and everyone's tired, cranky, running a low-grade case of cabin-fever, and praying that the power doesn't go off.
We need a change of pace. It's time.
I found myself telling myself last night to remember the last line of Percy Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind."
"O Wind, if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"