Bitter

I was just about to go to bed, but decided to hop on the computer and check out the weather for tomorrow. Looks like it's gonna be nice-ish! While I was at it, I decided I should probably check out the forecast for Thursday. My little intramural flag football team hasn't had a game in three weeks, and it's looking like we'll be rained out once again this Thursday. I have a feeling that our team's momentum will be entirely quashed by the time we get around to playing again. Not that we actually possess momentum or anything. We've won zero games so far. And I am certainly partly to blame for this. Maybe mostly. But thank goodness there's no "I" in "team."

(Note to self: Never gaze downfield while your team's quarterback is still in possession of the ball. There is always the ever-so-slight chance he will throw it to you. And then you'll be the dunce who didn't catch the ball because YOU WERE FACING THE EXACT OPPOSITE DIRECTION.)

I was about to turn my computer off and crawl into bed, but then, just because I love to torture myself with IMPENDING DOOM — I decided to pull up the Farmer's Almanac to see what's in store for the winter season.

And wouldn't you know.

The words "Bitterly Cold" happen to be plastered across the region of our world wherein I reside. Chicago is the literal epicenter of the BITTERLY COLD AND DRY portion of the United States. Yes. We are located right beneath the Y in "Bitterly," just southwest of the C in "Cold," and a hair north of the R in "Dry."

I might as well live in Anchorage, Alaska or Frostbite Falls, Minnesota or THE SOUTH FREAKING POLE.

See?

Good thing La and I only have to walk ONE WHOLE MILE to and from school each day. If we're missing toes and fingers and noses come March, you'll know why.