Tom Daschl, you're a delight

Now that I purchased a space heater, Maevis wants to hang out in my room. Stinkin' drifters, always wanting what I've got.

It snowed yesterday. It's supposed to snow again this evening. As a Tennessean, I'm genetically programmed to become quite excited by the little non-raindrops sprinkling from the cartoon cloud on the Weather Channel. I even wore my snow boots to work yesterday to "break them in." If I'm going to spend all winter blinking the shards of frozen eye juice from my swollen lids, I might as well enjoy a nice pair of boots.

But the novelty, she does wear off. By February, walking in snow starts to feel like walking in one of those moon tents at the carnival. Fucking impossible. I'll have to get up at 3 a.m. to make it to work by 9 p.m. because I can't manage a stranglehold on the laws of friction.

I wonder, if it wasn't for Christmas, would crime rates decline in the winter? If heat drives a nasty temper, doesn't cold make bandits feel too stiff to go out stabbing?

If I was a murderer, I'd wait until summer. Unless I needed money to buy Christmas presents.