If there is anything I've learned during my tenure as a New Englander, it's that you never get used to the winters. No one ever does. We might build up a slightly better tolerance for the cold, but all of that gets lost when the temperatures dip below freezing. The world is covered in ice -- not snow, but ice -- and salt becomes a viable color for cars.
Quite frankly, it sucks.
November and December aren't so bad. The weather hasn't dropped to sub-zero, and we have a slew of festivities to keep us entertained. And then January rolls around. Big, ugly January, with even more blizzards and absolutely no festivities. And we muddle through January, always (and foolishly) believing that, once February hits, we will be okay.
Why, oh why, oh why do we do that to ourselves.
Right now is the heart of winter desperation. It's the end of January, but there is absolutely no relief in sight. At this point, even with Valentine's Day around the corner, we are just morose mambo-jambos (in fact, usually the understanding that Valentine's Day is right around the corner makes some of us more morose, but that's for another time).
Honestly, why do we do this to ourselves? If you look at how a human being interacts with the environment (no fur, but an ability to sweat), we were obviously meant for warm climates. But no, our ancestors knew everything and ventured out of Africa, swearing up and down that we could just sling a tanned bit of skin from that thing we just killed around our shoulders and be perfectly fine. Hey, we made fire, and a source of heat is all we need, right?
It's days like these that make me genuinely consider relocating to southern California. I'll deal with the brush fires and the potential life-altering earthquakes. Anything to get me out of this cold.