Greetings from the Frozen Tundra.
Snow turns to ice and yet many still think that is the time to go to the store — which is probably closed, by the way. I’ve been here since Sunday. Two things are starting to weigh on me. First, I don’t have enough underwear to last much longer.
Secondly, I’m entering into cabin fever. I’m talking to myself. I’m doing it because there aren’t many people near my office to judge me. And by talking to myself, I can rationalize my thoughts with a second opinion — the other me. While I talk to myself, I’m holding the phone to my ear so people won’t think I’m crazy.
It may be too late.
Back to the first problem: You never miss the things you love until they’re gone. Without underwear, we are just animals. This realization goes back to 52 B.C. when Julius Caesar was said to have touched on the subject, along with his other famous statements:
“Alea iacta est.” (The die is cast.)
“Veni, vidi, vici.” (I came, I saw, I conquered.)
“Anei nomo shortsa” (Where the hell’s my boxers?)
Out on the streets, people are beginning to walk instead of drive. Ice has formed on the sidewalks, parking lots and driveways, meaning people are slipping and falling. As funny as it looks on “America’s Funniest Videos,” it’s painful. Drunk guys attempting to negotiate slippery sidewalks — well, honestly, that is funny.
For you people up north laughing at us and our paralyzed state of frozen-ness, just remember, we’re in short sleeves through most of December and again in March. We always get our revenge.
For now, we will carry on talking to ourselves with our frozen fingers, sliding cars and, let’s hope, a new three-pack of Fruit of the Looms.