spastic hell printer must die

Wanderlust

My love of autumn comes almost entirely from my hatred of winter. It's the finite quality of fall and the horror of that which follows it that give fall its value. The last week of rain (week and a day, to be precise) was rough, but at no time did I rage against fall weather. Instead, I mourned that we were one week closer to winter without having seen the sun. The shortening of the days almost makes me panic this year. Last winter it just snowed and snowed and snowed and snowed and snowed and they're predicting that this winter will be still worse. I'm really not convinced that I can handle it. Last winter I didn't commute. Last winter I hadn't yet realized that I hated my job. Last winter looks like a fucking cake-walk compared to this one.

So now the temperature has started dropping. We're at about 45 degrees now and will only go down another 5-6 degrees tonight. The days are still in the high fifties. And since now is the weather when jackets are advised but not totally necessary, I feel like I should take every opportunity to hit the road and visit every moonlight beach and dappled forest path in all of New England. I want to get in the car with some tunes and a few granola bars and a flashlight and drive until I see something worth stopping for. I want to trespass in the apple orchards near my parents' house the way I did when I was a teenager.

Instead, I'm probably just going to bed early tonight. When I wake up it will be winter.