Nothing A Little Late Spring Won't Cure

One of my favourite things to do with the Palinode is to take pictures of him while we take in a new-to-us restaurant. It gives me an excuse to stare at him a lot and bug him by hovering around his face with my iPhone like an overzealous paparazza.



And he still loves me even though I post pictures of him looking ever so worried and afraid of his menu.

I hope.



Did you know that it's the end of March, and it's snowing and windy and grey out? This extended greyness seems to be sucking the writing creativity out of me.

Also? The surrendering of the final shred of my online anonymity has kind of left me feeling uprooted.



The keywords for this month have been Depressed and Uprooted. Nice. I'm a laugh riot.

Actually, I am a laugh riot much of the time. I do soft shoes with jiggly elbows and make up stupid t-shirt slogans for my three cats' upcoming fashion shoot (this is a real thing, by the by) and make up offensive sausage jokes for our dining pleasure.



When I sit down to write lately, though, only the most serious stuff comes to mind.

Just call me Sad Sack Schmutzie.



Even my photography feels uninspired. Today, I took pictures of soap. Yesterday, when I was too lethargic to leave the bedroom, I shot photos of the cats from under the door while I lay about out on the floor.



Seasonally affected depression is the pits.

Please don't leave me comments about full spectrum lights or eating zucchini or the merits of learning to put my feet behind my head. I will silently jamb a fork in your eye from my side of the internet.



Believe me, I know it gets better. This is my thirty-eighth go-around with this winter crap, and I've got the pattern pretty much memorized.

I am far better at it than I used to be, though. I used to have to hide my kitchen knives and subsist on finger foods and stuff that didn't need cutting until my brain fell out of the hell of early spring's rhythm. I don't have to do that anymore.

Now I just get kind of morose and moon around the apartment groaning about the dearth of housekeeping staff around here and watching my chub get chubbier.

I like cheese nachos.



Which brings me neatly back to the fantastic Indian food the Palinode and I have been eating from Da India Curry House. They don't have cheese nachos, but they do have divine Indian food, which trumps everything, including my waistline.

Late spring will save me, though. It always does.

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PS.  You can buy cheap-as-borscht advertising in my sidebar for 25% off on your first placement up to 30 days. This helps me grow my waistline and get to BlogHer this summer.