Today is one of those days on which I feel a sickly loathing for the city. It's probably a combination of slogging through gray mush, feeling damp and icky from slogging around in the gray mush, and the nausea of being on a bus for a long time, watching people get on and off and on and off while I stay in the same place.
I went to have lunch with Sam, in the falling snow, and while lunch was nice, and I enjoy having what seems to be a stolen hour with him, I did not enjoy waiting for the bus in the snow. And having my purse and hat and coat and pants get all wet. The driest part of me was my feet, which were encased in a lovely pair of black boots. I tucked my pants in them for the first time ever, which is mildly uncomfortable, though it did save my pants from the muck.
Sigh. The snow looks pretty until you have to walk through it and transact some form of daily life in it. Not pleasant. Thus, my hatred.
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