Winter Slog
Winter has entered its 89th week. Climate change has caused Virginia to face over 73 days of rain so far this year and its only March 1st which is seemingly impossible but this winter has punched possibilities in the ballsack, gone fully rogue, and is doing whatever the f it wants and I for one am very over it.
To deal with the 79th rainy day (oh yes since I've started typing it has rained 6 more days) I went tanning like my 18 year old self who was unconcerned with skin cancer and wrinkles which are now two very real concerns 12 years later, I got a shitty chair massage at a nail salon on a chair that felt like I was sitting on a children's rocking horse, rickety and crumbling under my weight with a seat so narrow I'm halfway to a female castration.
And here's the thing, I want to be creative, I want to finish my five unfinished books, or setup the $700 brand new phone I have sitting like a Silicon paperweight on the coffee table, or fold my laundry, or what the fuck else other shit I have on my to do list and I just can't be bothered. I have a gold mine of blog posts to write. My notepad is full of anecdotes and instead all I can muster up is a rant that I am so sick of the winter I just feel depressed, uninspired, and extreme anxiety and boredom all at the same time.
So this will be my rant. If I hear one person over 18 say that winter is their favorite sport I will piss on them. I won't be aggressive. I will just stare at them in the eyes, pull down my pants, pull off one shoe probably my left because my right leg is stronger and more stable, I'll probably have to fiddle with a sock for a bit and do a hard tug with my leggings because I'm sure I'll be in leggings, then I will lift my free leg and piss on you. It'll probably go down my leg, I've never tried this before. I mean the first push will shoot out a little, but then it'll lose some power and sort of drop down because of gravity and splash up on my right foot and probably puddle on my leggings but my eye contact will not stop. I'll finish my pee, jiggle a little, hiss at you then trudge away naked from the waist down and never speak to you again because I do not need that sort of negativity in my life.
To deal with the 79th rainy day (oh yes since I've started typing it has rained 6 more days) I went tanning like my 18 year old self who was unconcerned with skin cancer and wrinkles which are now two very real concerns 12 years later, I got a shitty chair massage at a nail salon on a chair that felt like I was sitting on a children's rocking horse, rickety and crumbling under my weight with a seat so narrow I'm halfway to a female castration.
And here's the thing, I want to be creative, I want to finish my five unfinished books, or setup the $700 brand new phone I have sitting like a Silicon paperweight on the coffee table, or fold my laundry, or what the fuck else other shit I have on my to do list and I just can't be bothered. I have a gold mine of blog posts to write. My notepad is full of anecdotes and instead all I can muster up is a rant that I am so sick of the winter I just feel depressed, uninspired, and extreme anxiety and boredom all at the same time.
So this will be my rant. If I hear one person over 18 say that winter is their favorite sport I will piss on them. I won't be aggressive. I will just stare at them in the eyes, pull down my pants, pull off one shoe probably my left because my right leg is stronger and more stable, I'll probably have to fiddle with a sock for a bit and do a hard tug with my leggings because I'm sure I'll be in leggings, then I will lift my free leg and piss on you. It'll probably go down my leg, I've never tried this before. I mean the first push will shoot out a little, but then it'll lose some power and sort of drop down because of gravity and splash up on my right foot and probably puddle on my leggings but my eye contact will not stop. I'll finish my pee, jiggle a little, hiss at you then trudge away naked from the waist down and never speak to you again because I do not need that sort of negativity in my life.
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