Missed Opportunities

Winter. I fucking hate it.

There's no way around it. Have I told you this before?

It alters me. 

Carol has told me many times that I am a different man in winter. More irritable. Short-tempered. Depressed. Moody.

She's right. I am ready to rip somebody's head off right now.

I hate the cold. I hate being cold. Especially in my own home. We keep the thermostat set at 70 degrees.

Thermostats lie.

Our house is wide open, so it is always cold. There might be one corner of one room - maybe two square feet - that is 70 degrees. Everything else is sub-zero.

I get cold easily. Right now I wear three layers to work - a heavy shirt, a sweatshirt and a fleece. It is a cold office. People laugh at me, but it is what I need to survive. I will occasionally strip off a layer, but generally I wear all three layers all day long.

At home, in my recliner, I wear two sweatshirts and cover myself with a blanket.

I hate the cold. New Hampshire is cold from November to March. 5 months. 42% of the year. This make sense to you?

Carol is fine with the cold.

At some point in this marriage, I should have slipped a rufi into her milk, tossed her into the trunk of my car, driven to Arizona, dragged her into our new apartment, and chained her to a desk.

Talk about missed opportunities.