We're under a snow emergency. Weird. Bet you've never heard that one before. I'm sitting on the floor, staring at my blog, cooking frozen macaroni and cheese in the microwave at 10 o'clock at night, and have just come to the conclusion that if winter doesn't end soon I am GOING TO DIE.
I think I might be late on that sentiment, actually. Late by a few dozen blizzards. But really. I mean, come on. How much snow do we need? I get it, it's pretty and white and fluffy and what-have-you. But that gets old approximately the day after Christmas, when I'm completely out of the mood.
Here is what I'd rather be doing, other than being stranded inside, watching the sky fall: oh, I don't know, ANYTHING.
Wrap me up in a blanket on the couch and force me to watch ESPN, or something. I'll do it, I swear to God. Basketball, even. Hell, I hear Marquette doesn't suck.
Did you read that? I just admitted that. Out loud. Just make it stop snowing.
Or at least let me quit my job so I can lay in bed and do nothing but listen to music on iTunes. Good music. I happen to have impeccable music tastes, and I'm willing to sacrifice my career for it.
Or just hit me and tell me to quit my bitching. That works, too.