Winter feels like a dripping faucet when you’re trying to fall asleep.
Winter feels like an itchy tag that you can’t remove without ripping a hole in your shirt.
Winter feels like being a child at a dinner party, waiting and waiting for the boring adult conversation to stop so that you can go play, and getting the distinct feeling that it won’t stop. Ever. You will spend the rest of your life perched on the Martyrs Mirror at this table in this house that smells weird.
At the beginning it’s manageable. At the end it’s absolutely tear-out-your-hair unbearable. But there’s nothing you can do about it, really.
Happy rainy Thursday, everybody.