The RAV4 has made traveling the winter roads of Maine a much less anxious endeavor, and that has done wonders for my overall mental health and wellness.
The bad news, is that the frigid temperatures are really starting to irk me.
I woke up this morning, checked the temperature, saw that it was only 8 degrees, and dove back under the covers.
Later this morning, I posted on Facebook: It’s 8 degrees? I’m going back to sleep for a little while. Like 5 months.
I know you can bundle up against the elements, crank up the heat, and drink plenty of warm beverages, but those solutions make you look fat, drive you into debt as the price of heating oil rises, and make you burn both your tongue and the roof of your mouth.
I’d much rather hibernate. Can someone wake me when it’s warm again?
In Maine, winter begins on October 1, which is also Day 1 of the 182 Days of Terror.
That means today is Day 67 (yes, I’m counting!), so we’re just a little more than a third of the way through.
If I’m already refusing to get out of bed because it’s too damn cold, what am I going to do in February, when the New Ice Age hits Maine?
In my defense, Cali, my little black cat, was curled up in the bed next to me, and she totally agreed with my decision that it was way too cold to vacate the safety of the bed and its layers of warm, inviting blankets.
It wasn’t just this morning, though.
Snow Miser’s icy embrace really got to me last night.
It was after last night’s taping of The Nite Show with Danny Cashman. We did three shows and a Christmas Special, so I was really in a festive mood when I left the theater.
Here’s a photo I took of the set, which will help you to understand why life was beginning to look a lot like Christmas for me…
As I scraped the frost off the windshield, I continued to shake. It pretty much damn near shook all the Christmas Spirit out of me.
Being that cold sucks. I know that’s not the most eloquent way to express it, but it sums up my feelings perfectly.
As soon as I got home, I cranked the heat, put on layers, and fixed myself a hot drink.
Just like the situation suggested, but I didn’t like it!
This morning, once I reluctantly got out of bed, I decided I was going to wait until the mercury rose to 20 degrees before I went for my run.
Well, that ended up taking too long, so I finally bit the bullet and hit the road when it was a sweltering 17 degrees!
I’m sure I was smiling brightly under that cowl, completely excited about running in temperatures that were lower than the legal drinking age.
Despite the cold, I still ran four miles. Because as much as I hate the bone chilling temperatures, I am dedicated to keeping myself healthy and to getting into even better shape.
If only I could shiver away the pounds…
I’m not even going to get started on how the ridiculously cold temperatures have frozen my quest to find true love. That’s a whole other headache/rant/future blog post.
In conclusion, I hate the cold. Can someone in a warmer climate please take me in until it’s safe to return to Maine on April 1?