Now that I'm all used to winter and find it funny that I ever cared that my feet (as now) become blue-white and numbed by the computer-desk-circulation-destruction program we call "doing our job," I want it to snow more. The big piles laying around everywhere still — for over a fortnight, amazing — make my part of the Midwest feel like someplace else.
I'm not just looking for excuses to stay indoors, either.
I think, so this is what Minnesotans have every year, for an extended period … how do people keep up with six months of such encumbrances to mobility in the Dakotas? If I squint my eyes a little, I can even pretend it's a white-sand beach out there.
Making two eggs, chocolate (French style — like for Undine Spragg, only not delivered in bed on a tray with the letters and a single flower in a small vase) and toast … and eating it … wore me out.
At some point, perhaps 4 a.m., a little while before I was able to go to sleep, I noticed that the rooftops were all brown and grey and boring again. No more reflective shimmer. Being wide-eyed at all hours does not really produce startling revelations.
I acquired some luggage that is modern, TSA-useful and giraffe-patterned, and so, visit-ables, I'm making progress. I have no idea if I will get on any planes, but at least I'm not pro-procrastinating this part any more. There's a pile of boxes here … this place always looks like we just moved in. Things come, things go. The luggage box is still unopened.