Yes, you are ridiculously cute with your round belly and plump nose and general furry loveliness, but today I am really mad at you.  You are much too cute to stay angry at for too long, but did you really have to see your shadow today? Couldn’t you have poked your head out when it wasn’t so sunny? Haven’t we suffered enough already not to have to face another six weeks of winter? We all know winter is going to last even longer than that, there is still the  freak Easter blizzard to deal with in April, but it’s a mental thing, you know? A little hope of an early thaw would have gone a long way. That’s all. I hope you’re happy. Now go on back to your cozy warm burrow and sleep another couple of months. You adorable party pooper.

I’ve concluded that this is no ordinary flu bug. Obviously I have been cursed. I don’t know by whom. I don’t know what atrocity I have committed to warrant such retaliation.

Miraculously, after days of cringing from dry toast and saltines I was excited to be thinking of food again. I rarely lose my appetite. I eat through heartbreak, stress and nervousness, but food, my dear friend food has turned on me. How can a potato become an enemy? It is so innocent. So mild and innocuous. What could possibly be offensive about a potato? Somehow my transgression of trying to enjoy a potato was deemed punishable by the intestinal gods and I spent the rest of the evening swooning and tragic on the uncomfortable couch I have learned to despise over the past few days.

I am slowly shuffling with my bathrobe clutched around me, holding burning sweet grass in one hand and a can of Lysol disinfectant in the other. I don’t usually partake in native smudging rituals but I will do whatever is necessary to break this voodoo spell.

This is what Torontonians woke up to this morning…

It is November. I don’t care if it looks pretty and magical and sparkly. If I want to see pretty sparkly snow I’ll look in a picture book thank you very much.

Winter officially starts on December 21st.

Welcome to hell.

I woke up in a crabby mood this morning and it did not improve when I stepped outside and was slapped across the face by an icy wind. Half the leaves have blown off the trees so I can’t even pretend that autumn is pretty and look at the vibrant colours and blah blah blah. Give me some scorched dry grass and and stinking hot humidity any day. I watched a frail old man have to chase his hat across the street (mean cold wind picking on a helpless old man, has it no shame?), saw everyone scowling into their turned up collars, looking as furious as I felt, or wide eyed like they’d just been poked by a cattle prod, shocked at the injustice of it all. I witnessed a scary bit of road rage on Queen Street between a rented van and a bright yellow car . It escalated quickly into a shoving and cursing match and a slap to the bald yellow car guy’s head. I spilled my take out coffee on myself because my hands were shaking, and decided then and there that everyone was going to pay for my pissy cold weather mood. No free compliments today, no sir. No fun comments in a line up with strangers. Maybe a thank you if I have to be polite, but I’ll do so grudgingly, and without inflection. If this is the way it’s going to play out, so be it. I know the whole thing about smile and the world smiles with you, frown and everybody is going to spit in your drink (or something like that). Fine. If anyone wants a piece of me, they can come and get it. I have a whole lot of cold weather angst to unleash on someone and I am too broke and too many months away from planning a beach vacation to muster up a shred of benevolence. Bring . It. On.