"Only Robinson Crusoe had everything done by Friday."

So I woke up this morning, and I officially cannot take winter anymore. I'm done.

My house is dirty and cluttered. It's not that I can't clean it. (Although finding the energy lately has been difficult.) It's that it doesn't matter if I clean it because the minute I do, more stuff piles up...and by stuff I mean, coats, hats, gloves, boots, the pile of wool sweaters by the door for convenient wearing, blankets piled haphazardly all over the couch.

The snow-mud streaks are unavoidable, along with the newspaper that was poached in its plastic bag before we could get to it, the green jar of dog-safe ice-melting pellets, the wet mail that is all stuck together, and addressed to the wrong houses b/c our mailman either can't read, or just wants to get out of the freaking cold and shoves envelopes haphazardly into our box.

And forget fresh air. Fresh air is what you get when you open the door for two seconds and let in arctic temperatures...so you just sit there breathing in your own dry stinky germy breath and wondering if you open a window how long it will take you to get hypothermia.

When I woke up this morning, late of course because I can't get out of bed because it is gray, depressing, and icy out...I of course had to scrape another inch of ice and snow off the car...again. AGAIN, I tell you. Enough already with the 'tween' temperatures and the constant overcast. I am starting to relate to Jack Torrance. Where are those weird twins?

How much freaking snow has to fall before this winter can be done? I mean, it's not even good snow! It's that useless feather light snow that serves no purpose, except making fake movie snow look real.

I desperately need a vacation. I shall express my current daydream in haiku.

Toes dig ocean's edge.
Sunburn clings to white cotton
Hot sand happiness

Here's another:

Lobster club sandwich
I dream of eating you on
white Delano chaise