I really hate cold weather. I hate the fact that it’s almost never sunny; I hate the fact that I was not built for cold weather. I’m always cold, or at the very least, chilled. My hands go numb at the drop of the hat, so my fingers look like they belong on a corpse. And I hate how cold weather is so fucking depressing — it’s never sunny, and even when it is — hey, still unpleasant out. The only upside to wintry weather is that it usually signals the end of my writing hibernation. October to April is the most productive time of the year for me, and has been for the last three years. This year, it’s been particularly so. Since January, I’ve written over fifty thousand words — and the year’s not yet over. Granted, there’s nothing to show for it, publishing wise, but I feel like I’m this close. Time will tell.

I’m finally feeling better, though I’ve still got a nagging cough that all the medicine in the world won’t seem to cure. If I still have it by the end of the week, I’m going to ask my boss Mike if I can duck out a little early one day and see the doctor. He’ll probably say yes, since he’s real cool guy, but I’m reluctant to ask. I’m still “the new guy” at work, and I don’t want to make a bad impression.

Speaking of work, I really dig my new job. Eventually I’ll be the office manager, but right now I’m just the new meat. After working in a photo lab for six years, and being the shit at my job for the last two, it’s rough being the slow, unknowledgeable one again. I hate having to ask questions all the time; it makes like an idiot. My coworkers are cool, though, and the environment is pretty relaxed. What’s weird is I’m the only guy there that doesn’t watch racing or football, doesn’t like to hunt, and isn’t a Republican*. They chat about the latest episode of Survivor and I scoff; I mention I love Battlestar Galactica and I get blank stares.

“Isn’t that a show that was on in the eighties?” my boss asks.

“Yes,” I sigh. I try to explain that there’s a re-imagining of the show currently airing, and that’s what I watch, and the response I get is a round of “ohs” followed by more blank stares.

Despite the fact that they’re not geeks, I still like ‘em. My job kicks ass.

JAB

* To their credit, all of them now think Bush is a worthless idiot who’s fucked up and is continuing to fuck up the country. And I, with no small amount of smugness, remind them that I didn’t vote for Bush in the first place. Yeah, I’m well-loved.