It is officially the fucking doldrums, yo. The Prole Bowl has come and gone (The Lords of Kobol are kind to me), and now darkness descends upon my sad, empty life. Oh sure I could stare even further into the Abyss what, with the White Noise of sports-based distraction shuffling back into the Miasma. But who wants that? Not this bro.

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Mother Nature must be feeling guilty for those of us in New England. Friday morning I awoke to an onslaught of the Slushy Shit. It was draped across my car, down my driveway, coating the streets. What had been proposed as four inches of snow had turned into two feet of nightmare whilst I slept. Perhaps feeling a smidgen bit cruel for this deceit, Ole Lady Nature has turned the last two days into full blown Spring. You know you’ve been double-fisted by the Winter when forty-degree days are a salve on your soul. A balm on the chapped balls that weather has wrought. I’ll take it, and mix it together with some Daylight Savings Time. Despite the bullshit that is yanking an hour of weekend slumber out from underneath our feet, the bonus sunlight at the end of the day is bueno. As someone who is known to eat chapped stick in single bites while screaming at passersby when my sadness overwhelms me, any extra rays are salvation. They burn away the delirium that the Darkness brings.

Enough about me. How the fuck are you gals, guys, and every other combination? This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where you and I share the various happy happenings in our lives on a given week. The ointments that help soothe the irritation of the grind.

Let’s do this.

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