Breathes there a man with a soul so dead

… who never to himself has said, “Woot! Snow day!“?

There’s no particular reason that this ought to be a day off for me, given that all the work I have to do is right here at home, as are sufficient Chinese leftovers from Christmas to keep me from even having to cook. I could probably finish That Paper I’ve been working on. (Don’t we all have a That Project, that despite all our competence and maturity and stick-to-itiveness simply won’t get done?) I could get a month ahead on columns.

I’m planning on finishing my tea and taking Milo for a long, long walk in the snow.

After that, maybe I’ll finish the novel I’m rereading (Margaret Atwood’s The Robber Bride) or take a nap. And maybe this afternoon I’ll be bored, and ready to tackle some columns, if not quite That Paper yet.

But this morning, it’s snow day.

How are you spending this snowy Monday, oh fellow Bostonians? I hope the snow brings you minimal irritation and maximal fun. For Christmas people, especially parents, may the snow provide a soft landing to the irrational exuberance of the holiday.

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