It Must Be the Fever Talking

If I had to come down with something, I'd choose Saturday Night Fever. That seems like it would be fun, hanging out with all those Italian guys at the disco in Brooklyn. Even Cat Scratch Fever sounds better than what I've got, which is Cabin Fever.

I looked it up to be sure, and while I don't have what you could call a classic case, it's mighty close: "Cabin fever is an idiomatic term, first recorded in 1918, for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in a small space, with nothing to do for an extended period." Clearly, I've got it: I am a person. I am isolated. I'm in a relatively small space and although there's plenty I could do, there's nothing I have to do, and it's definitely for an extended period. Come to think of it, I am feeling a tad claustrophobic. The skies are either slate gray or charcoal gray. Clouds. Darkness descends. No sun. See, this is cabin fever, this inability to think clearly. No full sentences. It sucks. Anyway, the snow in Maine, sort of like the rain in Spain only colder and whiter, is driving me batty. I now hate it. I used to like it. Heck, I used to love it. Sort of like my first husband: I said "I do" but then I didn't.

We'll have to move. (Must tell Mitch.) To that end, I will begin shooting staged photos of our home, which we will be listing soon so we can relocate to Spain or Mexico or Florida or Israel or South Carolina or Georgia or California or New Mexico, someplace warm where it never, ever, ever snows. I never want to see another snowflake or snowball or snow cone. I don't even want to see any movies starring Johnny Depp or Robert Downey, Jr. I am done with snow. Enough already with the snow. I am over the snow. You see how annoying it is when something is repeated over and over and over? That's snow. That's winter in Maine. That friggin' groundhog sure got it wrong this time, since they are predicting snow for every single day this week and over the weekend. An early spring? Ha!

My cats have the fever too. They are beyond lethargic. Yesterday Lurch spent the entire afternoon sitting on the hood of my car, hoping we would leave. I swear he said, "Let's meow already!" It's sad, really. I think I'll go pop "Saturday Night Fever" into the DVD player. I'm pretty sure Lurch has never seen it.