the age of personal responsibility

The time between thanksgiving and new years always seems slightly dreamlike. When so much activity is crammed into so little time that it almost feels like nothing has happened at all. This year, amidst the tired panic of omicron, has felt especially so. Lately I have been thinking about the time it was so cold in Chicago that everyone had to stay inside. Before the novelty wore off, it was fun to work while huddled on the couch with hot chocolate. I have been thinking about when Paul took me and Zach outside to show us how bubbles would freeze in the air and shatter in your hands. I used to wish for snow days in college. I imagined waking up and being blinded, transfixed, staring out my window on Ingleside. I wasn't sure where one would best sled in a city so flat but I was sure we could figure it out. Six months and five miles later, the cold is the closest I ever got. I ran out of rice chex yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I'll buy some more.