“...waitin’, WAITIN’, waiting for the world to change…”, my alarm clock smugged at me. I slapped it with satisfaction in order to snooze for seven more minutes. Already disgruntled by hearing Mayer first thing in the morning, I had difficulty retrieving the threads of the bitchin’ dream I was in the midst of. I lay there in my jersey sheets, under a quilt, a wool army blanket, and a comforter thinking, “Is that my breath I see before me?”
I could linger no longer, lest I be late for work. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. God, it’s cold. I turn the radio on in time to hear the weather. Four degrees. Four degrees! How much longer must I take this?!?
“A little over three weeks,” said the Groundhog.
“Seriously?” I said to him, hands on hips.
“Sorry, Dawg,” he shrugged, “My shadow don’t lie…peace out!” he said. He flipped up his collar, sneered at me, and ran after my cat.
Goddamned stupid rodent.
What can I do but wait for the world to change?