The holidays have departed, so it’s back to grim reality and forty-hour workweeks. How can we survive without those leisurely four-day weekends? Frankly, we shouldn’t be expected to. It’s impossible to sustain a cheerful, can-do attitude through a cold, dark winter without inducements. Parties and gifts and paid time off are nifty little incentives.
We mourn their passing, of course, but it’s time to put the past behind us and move along. The stark reality of January and February awaits. Our job now is simply to make it to the other side — a bright and glorious springtime. At the moment, we have 57 days to go. So cheer up, we’re making progress, we will get through this.
The solstice is history and daylight is already beginning to linger, if only by seconds. While we’re waiting for winter to scram, though, we can daydream of sandy beaches and tropical islands. It’s easy, just close your eyes and stand in front of the oven, pretend it’s June or St. Tropez. If you have trouble deluding yourself, visual aids — in the form of travel brochures — are available from your local travel agent. Remember, it’s lovely and warm somewhere.
Hell, most of the planet is in the grip of one mitigating weather anomaly or another. Everywhere but here, apparently. The North Pole, for example, is seeing temperatures similar to Chicago’s, which is just up the road. So while it’s frigid in my neighborhood, much of the world is experiencing record warmth.
I know, this isn’t cause for celebration. It’s bad, catastrophic, even. Melting ice caps, collapsing glaciers, rising sea levels, this is serious, dangerous stuff with very scary consequences. I promise you, I’m not celebrating — I’m just not, you know, protesting very loudly. I should be, though. I should be railing like a lunatic and I’m ashamed I’m not. I feel terribly, horribly guilty. And a tiny bit relieved.
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