Last night a battle of epic proportions waged. In one corner, a craving for homemade chocolate chip cookies so great it could be described as criminal; brought on by end-of-Winter, brink-of-Spring anxiety that only creature comforts in the form of calorie-dense sugar bombs could calm. In the other, a lack of baking goods (thrown away in a fit of moth fright) and a fierce desire to Not Leave The House, Ever; compounded by a newfound interest in The Mindy Project and unlimited access to the entire season via Netflix (I told you that stupid thing is ruining my life).
The winner: chocolate chip cookies. Though you could call it a tie, seeing as I did subsequently finish the entire season -- aided in part by sluggishness due to aforementioned sugar consumption. Also, gluttony.
It's always around this time of year that I start noticing the inevitable signs of Winter Depression. My worst traits accumulate through the months of insufficient sunlight and too many layers of clothing: the inability to make decisions (see above); the underlying anxiety that manifests in pacing from room to room, unable to commit to any one activity; the fatigue accompanying each and every day, no matter its excitement. I don't know why I'm still caught by surprise at the dive my mood takes each year after Valentine's Day. It's official. From February to the first 80 degree day our unfortunate geographical position experiences, I am one crabby bitch.
While the snow angrily pounds the earth outside my house today, I'm afraid I've hit Critical Mass. Or some other techno-jargon, because I'm fairly sure I'm not using that term correctly at all, that means I'VE FUCKING HAD IT.
I still don't understand why I live here. Surely I would fair better in some balmy, imaginary state where snow falls but one month a year and by the time it hits I find it charmingly quaint. And then just at the right moment, it warms to a comfortable 75 degrees for the rest of "Winter." Haven't we figured out how to science the weather yet?
Bears hibernate. So do other smart animals.
So why is it that I -- as well as a majority of the human population -- still believe we have to keep the same pace in Winter as we do in warmer months? Why do we not see this as a time to slow down, to sleep more, to spend more time being domestic or simply just lying around? It's a time to recharge, right? So why the hell do I still have to stay the same weight in January as July, when all my squirrel neighbors are nice and fat right now?
Maybe we're all just nuts. So while I'm remaking the bed for the fifth time today and agonizing over wanting to do absolutely nothing but feeling ashamed about it, I hope you're at least finding some cozy ways to spend this home-binding day. And if not, here are some suggestions:
COOKIES. I've had this recipe memorized for as long as I can remember and it contributes as much to my domestic repertoire as to the size of my ass. The secret? Nestle Tollhouse. Adjust the amount of brown sugar to one cup and white sugar to a half and you have the Brown family secret recipe -- also a reason to not leave the couch for several hours. And if none of the dough makes it to the oven, I won't judge.
Celebrate Johnny Cash's birthday by dressing all in black and drinking too much. Could also be confused with a one-person funeral.
Make a list of SVU marathon names to send to USA. Instead of "Caffeinated Cases" or "Uncracked Cases" why not:
"Dramatic One-Liners Marathon"
"Awkward Explanatory Scenes Marathon" or;
"Overly-Obvious Apple Plug Marathon"?
I think I may have a future in TV. Everybody needs a wise-ass that makes cookies, amiright? And if all else fails, there's always the Middle Distance:
Enjoy your depressing day!