Yes, Cool Jesus is still here.  Unlike my estranged colleagues Matty Ballgame, Miss Possible, and Captain Larby, I am still gainfully employed by The Diatribe.  My absence has been the result of one substantial reason (I have not had any decent material about which to write) and one excuse (I vowed to not return until LTJ found a new avatar, because his current one creeps me out).  I actually thought of a good topic or two last night as I was settling down to watch the State of the Union address.  Unfortunately, I forgot them.  But, since it is the first day of February, I wanted to check in because the month always seems to start out on the right foot when I check in on day one.

I think we’re just about halfway through winter, which is good, but that also means I’m in the grips of my annual mid-winter blahs.  It strikes me every year.  The worst year for my MWBs was right around 1999, I believe.  I was about nine months shy of graduation, had been in Boston for four years, and my life consisted pretty much of school and work.  I desperately needed a change.  I thought for sure I would move away after school and even went so far as to send cover letters and resumes out to other states in the hopes of getting interviews outside of Boston.  That never happened and by the time 2000 rolled around, I didn’t feel quite so down about Boston.  I liked the buildings again.  I liked the ultra-fast pace again.  I didn’t mind the weather so much.

While I’d still like a change to shake up my life, I know I’d miss being so close to Boston.  My current MWBs are not as severe as before.  Just a normal case of being sick and tired of the gray, gloomy, overcast, chilly weather, of not being able to really partake in outdoor activities, of another season of the Celtics stinking up the Garden.

Last year at this time was worse.  I was in the midst of dating and that was not going so well.  This year, I have Swedish Girl to help me kick the MWBs and we even cooked burritos grande last weekend.  Yahoo!  And not to let the cat out of the bag, but there’s talk of mixing up a pitcher of margaritas this weekend.  What better way to lose the mid-winter blahs and look ahead to the mid-summer yeahs.

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