Winter is traumatizing to the triple-extreme
"Idea: I find winter traumatizing to the triple-extreme: putting on boots and coats in Toronto or New York sux (this is vs. California, where I have winter vacayed a lot, and where the North Face and heat lamps come out on the equivalent of a fading Labour Day in Muskoka), like sux in the same way that showering sux, because they are repetitive, painful journeys of care, when care of this kind should feel good, like a hand-me-down hoodie or a bath. (Related: I just bought a second humidifier, a sweet blue number for my desk. This is my Malibu house.) Being out with people in an atmosphere of grim determination to merely lay eyes on each other but no possibility of ending the night with a useless meander or a few little pops off the sidewalk to grab a tree leaf is such bathos. Also, January cold stings. So my idea is what if I don't go out in February? What if I take the antisocial cuddlevibes of winter to its logical extreme and limit myself to one daily outside excursion for sun-vitamins and the gym and then stay truly at home every night? Does this seem like cozy newlywed stuff, or like not that at all? Please advise."
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