It's 9

As in degrees. That's what the giant digital thermometer/always correct clock proudly announced this morning at 5:55AM with it's unblinking LCD. It's the middle of March for fock's sake.

Nine is not weather, it is math for a three year old. There have been too many mornings at 9 already. What's wrong with 28? There is a nice winter temperature. You wake up and sort out which clothes will keep you warm enough for the next 45 - 60 minutes. At 9, you dig out all the cold weather gear, add chemical aids, and hope frostbite doesn't set in. At 9, you get to work and there is a snotcicle hanging off tour nose.

Yes, I am whining. Go get your own blog if you don't like it.

Then just for spite, it dropped another couple of degrees before I left the house.

At this point, you walk outside raise a defiant digit to the sky and ask "is that the best you've got."

I expect it to be raining carp on the ride home tonight.