Cold, Achey Bones

Good riddance to January—and an invitation.

At the end of this post is actually an invitation to a fun party…

Being from Michigan, I never bought into the “winter scaries”—you know, where winter is this terribly dark time, emotionally and physically, something that one must gird oneself for and talk about ominously beginning sometime in late September or early October. When I encountered those people, I got away from them as fast as I could.

I grew up loving winter. I think my teenage self viewed it as a test of my mettle. I’d get up at 5am and scrape the ice off of my car, then head to the gym early and be back in time to make it to the first bell of high school with a protein shake in my hand. Looking back, it was my way of telling myself a narrative that I controlled: “Nobody else is doing what I’m doing.” Nevermind that I was totally checked out of classes. I was a budding little Nietzschean, re-valuing the high school experience according to my will, disgusted with the last men in the seats around me. I hadn’t read a word o…