As I sit at my desk with legs crossed while attempting to fix the hem on my wool slacks as any professional individual would; with a Swingline stapler (if only it were red), I ponder the complexities of life, why on earth I would wear these ballet flat-ish shoes on the first real day of snow (my socks are still drying and my toes half numb) and whether or not this may be the longest run on sentence ever. Probably not (the Run-on of '89 is a hard one to beat). And then I got distracted as I haven't eaten yet today and I realized that I still had a ginormous stash of candy and goodies and Minute Maid fruit snacks in my purse still from my meeting with the bishop last night. He forced them on me, all in an effort to make sure that I had some gluten free treats to sustain me as his normal stash of dark chocolate that he reserves for me had been depleted by the stake president that Sunday. (I like my chocolate like I like my men, dark and bitter). So it's two slightly stale Riesen's chocolate chews and fruit snacks for me. The breakfast of champions no doubt.
The one thing I have yet to understand about Utah, and life, is why oh why people are expected to go about there normal business on these snowy days. This is a time for sledding with reckless abandon. Snowmen, and their more ethereal counterparts to watch over them; snowangels. Sure, it's nice that people expect you to be in late since you live on the steepest freakin hill of all time and drive a car that does not share my affection for the snow, but a mandatory play day would be greatly appreciated. I'm hoping that the powers that be are taking note. It's a time for hot chocolate and cider and bundling up, and maybe just maybe taking pictures of the splendour (I served in Canada, I can spell splendor like that). You'd think that after braving some of the most bitter cold and snow and the freezing wind off the banks of Lake Ontario (which is a really GREAT lake by the way) in a skirt (or two, or three) and several layers of tights and wool socks that I would not be so affectionate towards the snow. And yet I am. At least until after Christmas.
I'm starting to think that this headband is too tight. No wonder I never wear these things. I'm pretty sure that it's squeezing my brain (or what's left of it....the Run-on Sentence of '89 did a number on my cerebral thinking machine.) That, or I'm just giddy since a friend called last night to tell me that she had an extra ticket to see Imogen Heap next week and would I want to go? The answer is a resounding yes.