We have about two feet of snow here. The university where I work was closed on Friday and is closed tomorrow. DC is pretty much shut down–even the federal government is closed, and they’ve announced that the metro will only run underground service. Officials don’t expect to clear residential streets until Tuesday, and the weathermen are forecasting at least another 5" of snow Tuesday night into Wednesday. It’s crazy!
But it’s really pretty.
I don’t mind being snowbound. Friday we celebrated Snowmaggedon happy hour with some friends at our favorite wine bar, blessedly free of hipsters. Last night I stayed up until 3 writing and drinking tea. Tonight, while Steve watched the Superbowl (go Saints!), I ate spice cupcakes with buttercream frosting and wrote letters to my Women for Women sister. I’ve taken several naps with the cat, caught up on my Tivo, and spent entirely too much time on Twitter.
It’s been the perfect cure for the February blues that slammed me last week, with a little bit of the Uglies thrown in for good measure–that itchy dissatisfaction with where I am now. Sometimes it’s hard to be the spouse who works away from home. To get shiny ideas at 2 p.m. when I have to answer phones and file memos. To read about blogfriends who have mid-day writing dates, or who get fabulous book deals, without feeling jealous–or feeling like an ass for feeling jealous. I keep reminding myself that this is where I am, where I need to be right now, and I won’t be here forever.
And there are days like this, when I write a chapter with my new heroine who thinks bookstores are creepy and can’t flirt worth a damn and would kill for her little sisters even when she wants to slap them. And outside the sun sets on sugared snow and the Saints win their first-ever Superbowl and life feels like it is just as it ought to be.