Punxsutawney Phil lied. There is no spring this year. It’s March and here in NYC, there’s snow, sleet, and wind. It’s unbearable outside. If I don’t have to run to work, I’m staying in. Sugar-free hot chocolate, blankets- but most importantly- Duffy Dean is all I want draped over me.

I’m from the south and the notion of seasons is still a little foreign. Beautiful and existential, but foreign. Winter has been absolutely brutal on my body. It stiffens my joins and tears at my lips. I run from my apartment to the bus to my work. Anywhere with four walls and heating, is where you will find me.

Winter is also when I save the most amount of money. Why? Because I don’t go out. If it’s not work related; I’m hibernating. I break this rule for large occasions: weddings, graduations, and birthdays. Most people know better than to have a potluck this time of year. Then there’s the occasional midwestern friend who recalls negative ten winters in Montana.

That’s nice, I think. This weather doesn’t phase you. Pin a rose on your nose, but don’t you dare try to get me to come outside.