Six more weeks of winter. Typical. But with the snow storms hitting the east coast it’s no wonder he didn’t say, “Just forget about summer for a while, get used to it.”
Winter, to me, always feels like it takes more time than it needs to. But first can we talk about the Groundhog Club? I mean, why are we taking predictions from a fat squirrel (or whatever Bill Murray refers to him as) that is awoke by tapping a log and reveals to us in groundhogese—the other scary thing is that autocorrect did not try to correct that word—how much more winter we have? These old white men in top hats and their audience of cardboard cut outs was just too much for me today. Perhaps in one hundred years our ancestors will look back at this crazy tradition and call us Pilgrims. Or whatever new slang term they coin this generation.
I dunno. Things these days feel like Groundhog Day at times. Stuck on repeat, but what’s the lesson? What is it that I am to find about myself, below the fragile veneer that flakes, is it peace and understanding? Is it to be kinder, listen more, love more? I do not know.
This is not a movie, this is not a sitcom, this is not some late night cable specamercial show. Or at least if it is, I did not receive a script, cues, or any stage direction. Which camera is mine? Get my good side. Oh wait, I don’t have a good side.
Well, hopefully I wake up on the third and not the second. 9:11AM is calling. If you didn’t catch Punxsutawney Phil or his cohort of Prognosticators, then watch below.