I hibernate in winter.

Living in Utah it’s frequently brought to my attention that I do winter wrong.

I don’t snowboard, ski or whatever the hell else people figure out to do in frigid temperatures to stay warm. I’m not completely opposed to the idea of outdoor fun. I just like to be warm.

I stay inside. I drink absurd amounts of coffee. I make soup. I sleep. I read books. I write stories about murderous cowboys on desert planets. Some days I even bake. Mostly I do everything I can to not leave my house so long as there is snow on the ground.

Snuggled up and cozy in blankets, sipping hot drinks and pretending the world is all wrapped up in white, wintery fluff keeps me from making a last minute airport stop to a beach.

In my perfect world winter exists as the best ready-made excuse to ignore the universe and pretend that I’m the only person in the world and all that matters right now is me and this love affair I’m going to have with a pile of unread books. No worrying about the Grand Bargain, no lapping up the Petraeus scandal, no staring at a snoring hummingbird, just me, my books and drifting thoughts of tropical beaches.

Winter’s also a good excuse to put a plethora of personal drama on hold indefinitely.

Although I am thinking this may just be the winter to try out snowboarding. Who knows, maybe I’ll start wintering right after all?

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