Cabin Fever? More Like Storm RAGE.

I don’t know what’s going on with me this year, but I’ve gone somewhere beyond Cabin Fever and straight into Storm Rage. I’m like a character in the Shining. Not Jack with the ax, but his wife running all wimpy in the snow*, while carrying a flopping knife. She’s running away from a murderer, and I’m running around trying to find enough food to make an enormous sandwich. Still. We’re both a little nutso. Screen Shot 2013-02-26 at 7.56.50 PM

And I’m not even running OUTSIDE. No. I just run from room to room, bump into walls, fall on the ground and then crawl to my couch where I then eat potato chips and miniature candy bars, because “it’s just a few calories”.


Even my fucking yoga pants are tight.


I mean, COME ON!

I am over Winter. Over it. I want flowers. And clear roads. And nice commutes in the morning to the studio, instead of clutching the steering wheel praying (because when I drive in a storm, I suddenly become VERY religious). I’m over the ice and the cold and the stupid long coats and mittens. I’m over looking like a bag lady all the time. And I’m sick of trying to get exercise on the treadmill because the treadmill NEVER STOPS. It just keeps going and going and going making me insane, sorta like an episode of American Idol.


And being stuck inside is turning my children into tantrum-spouting-spawn. Of Satan. (Of course, in this analogy, I realize I've just said that I am Satan, since the kids are my spawn.)


We need to get outside and go for walks and bike rides and I need to garden and get my aggression out by pulling up weeds and walking around Reed’s Lake and listening to birds and venting about the perfect East Grand Rapids Moms because it makes me feel less jealous.

And I need to get out of these yoga pants and into a cute dress. I need to put on makeup and possibly, maybe, even a bra. Maybe.


Please, Spring, get here. FAST. Before my head starts spinning and I slip into another horror movie.






*Here's the scene I was talking about: