I'm sick of winter. I'm one of these people who, when they've been cold for a while, cannot even imagine what it's like to be warm. I have some vague recollection of mincing down the street in shorts and a tank top, but what that might feel like, I couldn't begin to tell you.
Last week it snowed, and people were so excited. It's so pretty! It's fluffy! It's winter! There should be snow!
And I just think, "Stinky! It's so inconvenient. It's cold. It's wet. It's in my way."
I'm not in a bad mood, actually. I'm just lower energy than usual. I told a guy I was on a first date with recently that I'm much more energetic in the summer, and he got a little alarmed. So it's not like I'm not doing anything. I'm just not doing as much as usual. And it really bugs me.
I come home after work, and instead of jumping into workout clothes and being excited to go for a run, I put on my warmest fleece and curl up on the couch - ostensibly for a couple minutes, just to gear up for going to the gym. And too many times, I wind up staying on the couch for the evening. And eating chocolate.
And so, it's no mystery to me why my ass has grown in the last month.
Last week, all my pants were suddenly tight. It was like a big pants uprising. They were fine, they were fine, they were fine. And then they were tight, without warning. There was no almost tight, little tighter, tight.
With the first tight pair, I thought I'd left them in the dryer too long. With the second, I briefly wondered the same thing.
With the third, I finally had to say, "It's not you, it's me."
And then put on a skirt.