So, there's been a lot of snow in my neck of the woods lately.
And I mean A LOT.
So much, that the hubby and I couldn't even get to work on Monday this week. We live in a cul-de-sac, and it gets plowed last, making it difficult to venture out in bad weather.
It's funny, because as a child, I adored the snow. I would stay out and play in the white stuff for hours on end, making forts, angels, and having snowball fights with my friends. Now, it's just a nuisance that prevents me from getting things done.
I wonder when that changed - when I lost my childlike wonder of the snow.
I can't think of anything specific that caused that shift in my outlook.
I guess it's just part of the whole "being a grown up" process that we all must go through.
Kinda sucks. I miss that about myself.
On a positive note, being stuck indoors has made me spend some quality time writing, which I need to get back into the habit of doing more regularly. Oh, and I've read like four books in the past two weeks as well.
So maybe the snow isn't so bad after all.
