'let some mysterious chunk of space debris puncture the roof, and set me free'

winter and i have a love-hate relationship: i think it's pretty, it tries to kill me. every year. i usually make it through the holiday-related madness by applying liberal amounts of liquor to situations that might prove difficult, and then coast through the first half of january, temporarily placated by the calm that follows that chaos. however, the late january-into-february span inevitably manifests itself as an insidious, slow-motion slide on black ice, emotionally speaking, and all i can do is try like hell not to hit anything. some years, i get lucky. others, i wake up in late march, covered in scratches and bruises, and have to take comfort in the fact that i am still alive and kicking. i don't know how this year is going to go. that's the nature of it, really; there's no way to call it ahead of time. if anything, a false sense of security is the fastest way to sink the whole damn operation. it seems that the best thing to do, after twenty-eight years of trial and error, is to just keep my head down and hit the gas, and hope that my spinning tires will eventually gain enough traction to propel me into the springtime.

i wrote an essay on this topic. check it out here: http://amcircworksinprogress.blogspot.com

and for christ's sake, wear a coat. it's frickin' freezing out there.


charles is cold.