I love movies.  I've been doing theater since I was seven years old.  I admire creativity and talent.  Why, oh why, don't I care two figs about the Oscars?  Part of it is that I feel bullied.  Everyone expects you to watch, to have seen all or most of the movies, to have an opinion on who deserves what.   I've seen some of them and they were very good.  I've seen others that I didn't care for.  There are a couple under consideration that I wouldn't see at gunpoint.  I don't like the violence, the big explosions, the exploitation of women, the blood, the special effects as planets are destroyed.  Yeah.  OK.  I'm glad you like them, but I like to spend my money being entertained, and by entertained I mean "made to feel better than I did before I parted with my $12."  Give me musicals ("Into the Woods"?) or romance.  Give me comedies that make my sides ache.  I'm not a prude about sex at all, and I can cuss with the best and worst of the longshoremen, but show some intelligence, will ya?  Give me witty writing and a chortle or two in a darkened theater where no one around me is surreptitiously texting on his cell phone and I am a happy camper.

As for the self congratulatory excesses of the Academy Awards program itself, I've had enough of that as I have of snow this winter.  Beauty pageants, Golden Globes, People's Choice, Oscars, Grammies, they are all much of a muchness to me.  The only thing I find interesting are the dresses which I can easily view online the next day in about 30 minutes instead of staying up way past my bedtime and feeling lousy all the next day. The glamorous event seems to bring out a decidedly nasty side of the critics which I do not enjoy at all.  So I shall be watching "counter programming" tonight.  It fascinates me what the other networks find in their deep dark vaults that they choose to "throw away" against blockbuster programming.  Or maybe I'll watch a "Love it or Lease" it on Netflix and be inspired to redecorate my house.  Most likely, I'll fall asleep on my end of the reclining sofa while Himself sleeps on his, and around 11 o'clock we will nod at each other and drag our weary selves upstairs to get ready for another week.  And by the time I get to work I'll know who wore what and who won what and if I meet you at the water cooler I'll be so informed that you won't know I'm faking it.  The only thing that might give me away (outside of this blog) is that I won't be bleary-eyed with fatigue.  But hey, have a great evening! :)

I know, I know.  Everyone is tired of hearing about the snow.  But really, that's pretty much our life these days.  Each morning I look out the window and hope that it was a bad dream, but it's still all there.  It's all white.  It hasn't even had a chance to get to that "dirty snow" thing, because it never stops snowing.  There is always a new layer falling to cover up the exhaust fumes and slush piles.  Oh wait.  Slush would imply something had melted.  We haven't gotten that far yet since the temperature has hovered so far below zero that my brother-in-law in Alaska is feeling sorry for us.

Only one car is accessible in our single driveway, the other being tucked in the garage under.  I don't like having a car inside my house.  It's wrong on so many levels.  And it is sitting on a "donut" wheel anyway, so before we can make it go very far there is work involved and no one has the energy to do anything.  Commuting has become a tedious nightmare.  They say they have been working on the subway connections and that we should have full service tomorrow.  Maybe.  If it doesn't snow any more.  Which it always does.  One day last week I spent five hours on a round trip to a job where I work for eight hours.  And not a big job.  I'm no brain surgeon.  The pay is piddly, although the atmosphere is pleasant.  But come on, people!

I had tickets for community theater last night, but I was so spent I couldn't go.  It was snowing (again) and I'm getting over the flu, and I just could not move.  I was in my nightgown and robe by six o'clock.  On a Saturday night.  My grandparents used to go to bed at 7:30 and I would pity them and also laugh.  I'm not laughing any more. This is getting depressing.

If I weren't such a wuss about driving on ice and snow I'd go to the art museum. I find I am starving for color, for the sight of trees, for beauty of any kind that isn't white.  What I don't want to do is spent two hours at my open bedroom window, wielding a shovel which has been married to a broom handle through the magic of duct tape, trying to push snow off the roof of the porch below so that it doesn't collapse under the weight of the snow.  The curtains blow in my face.  The snow blows in my face.  And it looks as though I've done absolutely nothing when I've finished.

I'm getting so desperate that Himself invited me to join him at the gym and I'm going.  Just to move in a non-shoveling pattern.  Or drink coffee with strangers.  Or swim in the pool and pretend I'm in Bermuda.  Monday is coming up fast and I need to brace myself for the Herculean task of getting to work.  If you remember, for one of his labors he needed a shovel, too.

This is the view from my window today as I wait out the second blizzard in as many weeks.  Massachusetts is now closed on Mondays as a rule.  Our storms seem timed to the weekends, although I couldn't tell you why.  It's like living on the surface of a foreign planet.  I'm waiting for the TARDIS to land.  (That's a "Doctor Who" reference for those of you who don't follow that excellent Welsh program from the BBC.  I've told you about this before.  You really should check it out.)

We have not lost power, we have lots of food in the house, the heat is on, and Himself is excellent company (except when his nose is in the computer, but that's OK.  We're out of things to discuss anyway.)  There has never been a winter like this here.  The public transportation system is an antiquated and embarrassing relic.  It took me three hours to get to work on Thursday, a trip that usually can be done in 35 minutes.  It's a new nightmare every day.  God have mercy on the homeless or those who are low on food or heat. Even getting to a shelter is pretty much impossible at this point.

Depression is becoming a consideration.  All I want to do is nap or eat, and I am feeling very trapped.  Not that I have anywhere I want to go, but knowing that I don't have any options is  making me claustrophobic.  I assume my office will be closed again tomorrow.  i can't imagine the roads being passable by then.  The winds this afternoon are expected to gust up to 55 miles per hour.  While some of my neighbors are already out there with their snow blowers, I can't say that I think that makes much sense with the kind of drifting that comes with winds like that.

Somewhere under there are crocuses.  They're probably less than a month away, although that's a little tough to believe at the moment.  People live in Canada.  By choice.  My brother-in-law lives in Alaska on purpose.  Me?  I have deep respect for and new understanding of the bears.  Pig out every fall and sleep until the weather learns to behave itself. Sounds better and better to me.

I have a long-standing tradition of never complaining in the winter, no matter how snowy or cold.  You may well think this is stoic or hardy or patient of me.  The truth is I like to reserve my whining rights for the summer when I really find the weather intolerable.  Anything over 75 or so and you'll find me huddled near an air conditioner, whimpering.  I am about to break the tradition.

Last week I was stuck in the house with the flu.  OK.  I'm feeling better now, thanks, and did get to leave the house twice over the weekend (three times if you count church, which I suppose I should).  But once again Monday has arrived and my street has disappeared.  The view outside my window looks like an alien world.  I've watched "Doctor Who."  I know what those look like, so let me assure you I have some credibility here.  My six foot tall stockade fence is invisible.  We won't talk about what I vaguely remember as hedges in the front of my house.   There is a tiny pathway leading to the street and we only use that lately to get out the door, round the corner, and shovel out the driveway, which is another matter altogether.  I'm only the tiniest bit over five feet tall, so it has become more or less impossible for me to shovel, but my six foot tall husband has it no easier.  There is nowhere to put the new snow anyway. 

In less than two weeks we have had approximately six feet of snow.  And it isn't even Valentine's Day yet.  Spring in New England doesn't begin to think about arriving until somewhere around St. Patrick's Day, regardless of what the Pennsylvanian Rodent says.  On March first the Ice Creamsmith opens in Dorchester and I try to convince Himself that spring arrives on that day, but I actually do know better.  Wishing does not make it so.  I miss going into work and seeing people.  We are not running out of food (thank you, Lord) but the selections are getting a bit....oh, let's call them "creative".  I am so desperate for something completely different to do that I am planning on spending this "found day" cleaning.  How sad is that?

We New English (why don't they call us that, anyway?) are sturdy stock.  We will get through this, and in a month or so my hedges should re-emerge from the mini Alps which are currently my front lawn.  But just for the record, I have seriously had enough of the (insert your favorite expletive here) snow.

Let the record show that I never made any claim to be a good patient.  Or a patient patient, either.    This flu thing has gone on long enough.  I must be feeling better, because on this (Day Six) I am bored and cranky.  I'm too wobbly-kneed yet to go back to work, but I'm too well to spend one more day dressed in my fleece nightie.  I've had it.

I've learned a lot while I've been out of action.  I've learned how many wonderful and caring friends I have.  One even showed up with home-made chicken soup and bread, tea and cookies.  People have reached out via Face Book (I couldn't talk on the phone until yesterday without coughing up a lung on every third word).  My husband has been a sweetheart and extremely patient, especially as my mood has deteriorated into that of some wounded ferocious animal, or maybe one of those zombie teenagers I see staggering across the television screen, ripping limbs off anyone passing, and chewing on body parts for fun.  I've been much too tired to get up and find the remote to change the channel.  Day time TV has been another education.  It was nice to discover that I haven't been missing anything since the days when I had three monitors going at once in my office and could follow more than one soap at a time.  I've learned how wonderful and supportive my current boss is, and how motherly.  Which brings me to something else I've learned.  I don't care how old you are, or what kind of a relationship you've had, at some point if you're sick enough, the only person you want is Mom.  Now my Mom passed away two years ago, so calling her name made no sense, but it didn't stop me. 

But I'm starting to feel better now.  The weather is keeping me indoors and with the worst two weeks of winter in the history of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, we are about to get a foot more snow.  The wind chill factor this morning was -20.  I don't care.  I'm going out to my acting class tonight.  I may even go out for a drink afterwards.  If Himself isn't home from work to drive me I'll take a cab.  I'll rent a dog-sled team.  But I am so OUTTA here!

Getting sick is like having a toothache.  You forget how wonderful it feels not to have one until it starts throbbing.  I, like most of us, take my good health for granted.  Not everyone is lucky enough to be able to do that, so it's fine with me if the Deity takes a two-by-four every so often to remind me of how lucky I am.  I was thrilled to put on real clothes today.  I plan on a shower this afternoon (a very big deal, and a decision my fellow thespians will appreciate this evening, I'm sure).  And the next time I have a friend down, maybe I'll be the one to appear with the (store-bought) chicken soup and bread.  I want to be thoughtful, but I know my limitations.