Fucking Weather

So, I'm driving behind a bright and shiny new monster pickup truck with a bumper sticker that states: Make Getting Welfare as Difficult as Getting a Building Permit. I have no frame of reference for either, but somehow, that just doesn't seem to be a viable solution. How about addressing the roots of the problems so that neither welfare nor building permits are necessary? For, if we were somehow able to eliminate the idiotic beauracracy and legality inherent in every level of government, we'd surely have enough extra money to feed every hungry person and house every homeless one. Why does it have to be so complicated? Problem: Solution. It could be that easy. This fucking weather sucks. I'm experiencing all the malaise, inertia, and dampness caused by S.A.D., and yet, I'm grateful. I picture the horror that would be my life today if I were still a mail carrier. Today would be the day I'd quit (had I not done so already, snicker). Or, I could be trapped in a cubicle, writing accounting policy and procedure, or medical staff policy and procedure, or marketing materials for a software company that treated me with the respect you would accord a used Kleenex handed to you by a dripping avian-flu sufferer. Today would be the day I left my cursor in the middle of a sentence, walked away from everything, and hitchhiked my way south until it got sunny and warm. Instead, I have the enviable luxury of drowning my sorrows in a cup of Dulce de Leche coffee, boosting my flagging energy with a chocolate covered macaroon, and watching the weather from a large window on the upper floor of a hip coffee house, toasty in a plush armchair. It is truly my decision whether I work hard today, or make the rest of the next six months more difficult by choosing not to work at all. Choice. It's a beautiful thing. A friend of mine is leaving today for New Orleans, to volunteer for this group for a week. I'm proud of her. Although I never act, I often think about how fulfulling it would be to be part of the recovery effort of a devastated place. It appeals greatly to my sense or order, desire to make things better, and sheer purposefulness. OK, one last mindless note. I'm in a coffeehouse named El Diablo, and behind me are young guys talking about how good they feel when they start each day reading the bible. Snort. I need to invent a whole new breed of emoticons that convey the sounds I make when snort-laughing about life's little amusements such as this, which hit me all the time.