It's Groundhog Day, or maybe Tim Burton's vision of Groundhog Day starring Johnny Depp instead of Bill Murray. Either way a thick layer of ice grips the Village this morning as I look out the window. I'm talking about a groundhog with suicidal tendencies, with a rope around his neck instead of a collar, a groundhog with a taste for Zoloft.
Torn from his borrow by a gentlemen resembling a Victorian executioner Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow today so they say it will be an early spring this year. I’m not one to believe in superstitions, seriously I'm not, but at this point I'll take whatever hope I can get. I haven’t heard from Staten Island Phil yet but I don't think he is going to see anything but his reflection on the ground if the executioner should drag him out.
You might be getting the idea that I’m tired of this winter, the winter from hell, and you would be correct in that assumption. I have had more than enough of this winter of the snowpocalypse and thundersnow and as the lights flicker I might yet add this winter of the icepocalypse to the list. We of the Village are surviving on thoughts of spring and summer but it getting harder and harder to wipe that war in the trenches looks off our faces. Groundhog or not for now the winter from hell keeps us in its, well, icy grasp and doesn’t show any sign of letting go.
Better keep all my toys charged today ....
Groundhog Day - Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad
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