We have had four blizzards in the past week. Two of those blizzards resulted in snowfall of over a foot. The second of those two blizzards was originally only supposed to be a light flurry. We are expecting a fifth tonight. And, while they say it won't touch down until late tonight and the overall accumulation will be negligible, I've already have two students email me, saying that they cannot make it to tonight's class (and this is after having to cancel two classes in a row due to freak storms).
My husband and I have been talking about trying to get a winter vacation in. It hasn't been easy: like I mentioned before, with mortgage, an unexpected surge in oil consumption, car payments, and now dual-tuition payments, we don't exactly have a few thousand laying around for luxurious vacation in Tahiti (it's a magical place).
(You're welcome, 0 people who watch Agents of SHIELD and read this blog).
However, after this last storm, my husband simply said, "I don't know if we should talk about planning a vacation so much as we should be planning to purchase one-way tickets and stay there until summer."
I honestly feel like I've hit my breaking point with winter. I know New Englanders always say that, but it's getting to the point that I genuinely wonder if I'd be happier packing up my stuff and moving further south. Of course, most of the south would be out of the question, as I'm miserable in humid weather. Which leads me to places like Arizona, Texas, Nevada ... or southern California.
Honestly? I'm okay with forest fires and a potentially life-destroying earthquake, so long as it gets me out of this disgusting weather pattern.
Call me fair-weather, because that's exactly what I am. Give me some fair weather, dammit.