Winter blues blues

I know Spring needs to do all its wonderful stuff when I:

  • feel so melancholy that I listen to ‘Now We are Free’ from the end of ‘Gladiator’ – the bit when he meets his Mrs in the afterlife.
  • prompted by the poignant tones of Lisa Gerrard’s melody, start sobbing at the memory of Russell Crowe’s character dying a violent and terrible death.
  • watch ‘Queer Eye’ every evening and cry. Every episode.
  • start eating pistachio nuts as though my life depends on it.
  • subscribe to Gaia.
  • try to meditate but just fall asleep.
  • post on facebook about everything, from nice dogs to aprons.
  • wish I lived in Morocco, Spain, Tanzania, Australia or anywhere warm.
  • lift my face to the weak, winter sun and beg it to be warmer.
  • eat mashed potatoes for breakfast.
  • have a hot, bubbly bath every evening and sit in it until I wrinkle, adding hot top-ups every time it stops burning my skin.
  • am unable to speak until I’ve had 3 cups of coffee.
  • fall in love with Abby Wambach in a creepy way.
  • fall in love with Glennon Doyle too but feel jealous that she has Abby.
  • wonder if I have a droopy eyelid and keep staring at my face to check.
  • read Rupi Kaur poems and (surprise!) cry.
  • get feet that resemble something from the Jurassic age.
  • get armpits that would scare off a burglar.
  • enjoy cleaning because it warms me up in the house.
  • stare obsessively at the smart meter and turn off every plug socket in the house.
  • wear three layers at all times indoors and out.
  • wear socks that my boots won’t go over.
  • get a wine problem.
  • get a whisky problem.
  • keep looking on Ebay for the Lucy and Yak boilersuit that will fix everything.
  • find cute pictures of the people who share my genes and who, luckily, haven’t inherited my winter grumpiness.
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
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