I went to the Health Department today to make sure I don't have tuberculosis (TB.) Apparently, I can't work with children if I have tuberculosis. So, today, I was to get the results of the TB test I had done last week. I sat down with the nurse, bared my arm, and realized that I was wearing the same exact outfit I had on when I met with her for the test. I told her and we had a laugh. Apparently, we have the same dressing habits. I wear the same outfit for a few days. I'll admit it. Because who wants to spend time figuring out what to wear every day? I certainly don't. So, I have a new favorite outfit every week or so and I wear it until: a. it doesn't smell so great, b. it's got a visible stain on it larger than the size of my fist or c. I'm so sick of it I just can't stand to look at it anymore. Then, it goes into the hamper for about 6 months or so, to wait for laundry day, after which it will languish, clean and ready to wear, for about the next two weeks in a heap on my living room couch or floor. And no, I am not ashamed about any of this! 
Nothing beats falling into a mound of soft snow, then making snow angels in the quiet, peaceful calm. Nothing.
I will have to remember this as I am condemning the long winter, when dark, dreary days in multiple succession threaten to stamp out the sun in my heart.