Morning, Cicely. Eight A.M., muchachos. Time to finish those flapjacks, knock back that second cup of joe, get ready to greet the day. Temperature's creeping back towards double digits as the solar drought continues---23 days, an average of an hour and a half of sunlight every day. No relief on the horizon, which only makes sense 'cause there is no horizon. Our friends at the weather service are calling for another storm, and as we know, they've been batting a thousand lately.
Hey, let's check our social calender. Nothing. Total blank. It's cabin fever season, people---that time of year when four walls feel like they're going to come in here and choke the spirit right out of you. Time to lock away those firearms and hang tough. No way through it except to do it.