January 2016
It’s colder than Hades, and the mucus of my nose has dried up, even sheltered underneath my Harry Potter-themed scarf as I walk home from the metro stop. The walk is only ten minutes, but ten minutes in the cold, dead heart of winter is enough to feel like a generation long.
It’s the second week of the New Year and I’ve already failed my resolution to be more mindful and stop worrying so much. Which has me worried ‘cause apparently when making any type of goal-like thing, it’s supposed to be concrete and time-bound, and mine don’t make a lot of sense.
Whatever.
My black jeans are so cold that they’re stinging my skin against my semi-exposed legs, and I know it’s time to upgrade my ten-year old North Face coat that has seen me through the good times, and the bad.
Which al
