Ok, so it is Monday.  I am a misanthropic soul, most admittedly. Yesterday’s sermon really pointed that out to me even more than I wish to admit it.  The summation of this is that I love people but from a distance, and I don’t love the stupid things people do.   When I am deprived of my weekly quiet time (i.e. stuck at home to run and fetch for Jerry) I get more than a bit cranky. I am trying to overcome the scourge of winter apathy, but when it’s too bloody cold for even me to go outside without layers and layers of clothes, it’s not easy, and it gets worse.  It doesn’t help that Target had their usual swimsuit extravaganza on display as of the 15th of this month.   This is Ohio.  The only people buying or wearing swimsuits in January either a.) have their own pool or hot tub, or a membership to an indoor pool, or b.) are going on vacations to places where it is warm enough to go swimming outside.  Since I fit into neither of those categories, the swimsuit display only serves to remind me just how bad I look in a swimsuit anyway, and how long I will have to wait to go swimming again.  When I am in the pool I can care less who is looking at me anyway.   The thing I don’t understand about the early bird swimsuit display is, where are the parkas in July?  If you are going to sell totally seasonally inappropriate apparel, then it would stand to reason that anyone looking for shorts and halters are going to find long-johns and thermal socks.  That wouldn’t surprise me either, although I highly doubt parkas are going to sell very well in high summer when it’s 95 degrees with 100% humidity. 

Usually the end of February is the worst part of winter.  The dismal pallor of late February in Central Ohio has a despair all its own. It’s still technically winter, but it’s just warm enough for the whole outside to thaw out enough to be damp and covered with the old, grey snowbooger scuz instead of permafrost, but it’s definitely not spring.  It rains, but it’s a constant, overcast drippy drizzle, not the torrential rains that accompany “springtime” in Ohio.  The torrential rains- as well as thunderstorms and tornados- come through in March and April.   There isn’t much to look forward to in late February except maybe Mardi Gras.  At my age I want people to forget my birthday, and through some stretch of luck, and the pervasiveness of winter apathy, they usually do. 

If anyone does remember my birthday, try to remember I’d like a one day pass to the indoor waterpark.  Either that or go whole hog and buy me that “Y” membership I can’t afford. 

Hell, I’d be happy with a few new packs of granny panties.  Mine are getting rather threadbare.

Jerry doesn’t seem to realize the toilet isn’t a very good ashtray either.  I think he will find all kinds of disgusting sleaze when he snakes it out.  He likes to flush everything and then wonders why you have to plunge it every time someone takes a healthy poo.  Then again he wasn’t blessed with much common sense.  Since I know that I should forgive him.  Maybe that’s what’s the Prozac is for.

That’s the only way it’s going to get there, too.  Martha Stewart I ain’t.