It happens every year. I should expect it, but it always blindsides me.
It's cold. Bitterly, stupidly, frostbite inducingly cold.
And it's gray. (And white.)
And it's all that I can do to pull myself through the days.
Because all I really want to do it stay in my pajamas, crawl in to bed under a mountain of covers, and sleep and sleep and sleep.
Because I am tired. So, so tired. And I am cold. All. The. Time.
And I just can't find the energy (ambition?) to do much besides sleep.
Don't get me wrong. I'm going to go, right now, and make some tea and start the day, and I have a big old list sitting on the kitchen counter of things that will get done, because they have to get done.
But all the while, I'm just trying to get it all done as quickly as possible so that I can put my pajamas on again and get back in bed.
It's just so January, isn't it?