The weather change is kicking my fabulous ass. Sure, you’re thrilled with the cooler temperatures because everything above 80 makes your jersey knit feel like a neoprene nightmare, but I can’t share your arid joy. My joints stiffen. My mood sours as I trudge to work in the dark. Frankly, I’m a fucking prize from 1 October to 1 May when I take my own personal paddle ride in the swan boat of seasonal misery, waiting for the sun’s return. I wish it came with kettle corn. I hate kettle corn.

Hibernation sounds like great fun. I would like to make dinner reservations and dentist appointments based on when the salmon are running. Being warm and cozy for months on end might be divine, but I worry about the dreams. Would I need a winter-long attention span?