Part of me actually believes I'll miss this seering cold when I one day don't live here anymore. Because, complain as I might about the extremes, there's still a tiny amount of enjoyment in planning your days around Arctic style temperatures. Justifying your coffee habit each morning and your hot chocolate each night. Something about cozying up on your couch each evening when you return home, with a fleece blanket, some hot soup and ridiculously hideous but comfortable fluffy pajamas you hope no one will ever have the misfortune to see you in, is the guiltiest of pleasures. It's quantifiable. You can be lazy in winter because that's what winter's for. Staying home and taking stock. No one can scold you about laziness when it's the same temperature as the North Pole. It helps when you have a big hunk of man to warm you up as well, I won't lie.
Besides, it's not like you can go for a jog.
That's what I tell myself anyway, as I slob around in old comfy red sweat pants with "Canada" embroidered on the leg, because I'm planning on staying home doing some work. It doesn't matter that I wouldn't be seen dead outside in them or that they have an ink stain right on the back seam making it look like I had some unnatural colored anal leakage.
This week I have to take care of the unpleasant weeding out of possessions for my big move in March. Whittling down all the things I don't need and working out how to move the things I do. Although El Cerebro's not coming till later in the year, he's about as useful as a chocolate coffee pot (but luckily also as tasty I think!) when it comes to organizing things for packing. He's like a lot of men, who think just tossing a bunch of clothing and items in a bag equates "packing". It's exasperating to me who likes to pack in a way everything fits at its most efficient. Underwear or socks rolled up inside shoes, every bit of space used. Not him. His packing always looks like he was escaping a burning building.
He's the same way with the dishwasher. I won't let him near it usually. I like to stack things logically and neatly and they always come out clean. Him? Things everywhere, all higgedly piggledy at all sorts of geometry defying, illogical angles. No, no, no!
Don't get me started on his desk. I think men just have a chromosome missing or something when it comes to logical order. But at least they come with some excellent benefits too, if you know what I mean, ladies?
Yep, the man can put up a shelf!