It’s on days like today, when the sun decides the world is not worthy of its rays leaving us destitute with the bitter cold, I overdose on green things. Whether it be a plastic black cup with a lone brisk stalk holding up an over sized non-seasonal daisy or a chunky vegetable I presume to loathe, I need something in the bleak of winter to get me through the chest-aching 25-and-below degree days January always punishes us with.
Usually I spend the beginning part of every year (like this part, right now) coming down with a bad case of cabin fever. And I get it bad. I’m stir crazy, severely vitamin D deficient and a complete nut case — just ask my husband. He came home last week from a business trip to an entirely rearranged house and a room full of sealed boxes ready to be sent off to storage. His things, yes, they are gone. Thrown away. It’s what I do. It’s how I cope. Come save us all. Because if I don’t throw away the excessive amount of (what I’m now told were) receipts and random scribbled notes from the desk void of its owner, then I would have to step outside and do normal things, like get the mail or take out the trash. And let me sum up quickly what would happen to me if I actually did those things: I would die. My inner core would succumb to the air so dry, so cold it forces what feels like a thousand knives into my chest making it ache like I’m having a heart attack until, well, I actually do have a heart attack. So the complaints I get about this clean desk being, umm clean, is really my way of showing him I have serious self-preservation skills, meaning I’m still around to cook. But I hate to air out
our little quarrels my surmounting life problems (did I mention teething? We’re doing that over here too…), so back to what I was saying previously: