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  • Writer's pictureChoo Choo


I've probably mentioned it on this site before, but it bears reiterating: snow days are the best. Even when they fall on weekends, which may seem like a wasted opportunity for those who'd like a nature-made break from work, but I've come to realize that they are just as welcome on weekends, and especially on those weekends when you have various and sundry social obligations stacked Tetris-like along your calendar so that it begins to feel like work to your introverted self who is backed up against the corner, quietly screaming for some alone time.

Enter the snow day. Obligations magically vanish, guilt-free, and now there's nowhere to stay but in. Found time in a world of which there's not enough. Time to clean, bake bread, do laundry--wash, dry, AND fold, all in a row, what a strange concept!--to catch up on podcasts, catch up on that pile of neglected New Yorkers, catch up on TV, on emails, on sleep. Time to stare off into the distance and ponder what to write in this trivial thought-receptacle.

Now on to the grocery list.*

* To preempt any dour backlash from the haters swilling their Haterade out there, I'll go ahead and play the part of my own worst critic for this post: I'll be damned if this wasn't the most myopic, yuppie, privileged, backwards-feminist, boring, Pinterest-y paean to snow ever to be committed to prose. Well in the immortal words of Bobby Brown vis-a-vis Britney Spears, I say to you, "I don't need permission/ Make my own decisions/ That's my prerogative."

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