This winter has been so long I've begun to feel like summer is a fable, a tall tale, that I've heard about in books and Disney movies but doesn't exist in real life.
Each time the future is referenced I frame it in the context of whether or not flip flops can be worn then.
I've seriously considered the consequences of abandoning my house and mortgage and packing the car, driving to the southernmost point of the US.
Yesterday it was 35 degrees in the evening when the kids and I left the house, and none of us wore coats, in appreciation of the warm temperatures.
My first winter as a runner, and my first training for a half marathon, has been met with record low temps and record snowfall, rendering outdoor running impossible.
I'm certain that I'm suffering from seasonal affective disorder, but I've been too cold and had too much snow in my driveway to allow me to visit a doctor for diagnosis.
This is day 90ish of my captivity. I'm beginning to break. If spring doesn't arrive soon, I'm fearful for the safety of my family.
Praying for rescue. Please, snow, melt. And soon.