Life at the Overlook

I feel like Jack Torrence. You know, all work and no play makes Jessica a dull girl, redrum , and the like. We’ve only been snowed in for two days, and already the inner psychopath is being unleashed. Fortunately, my psychosis is not of the murderous variety – rather I mostly spend time “interacting” with my “friends” in the TV and on the internet. The lady in the bathtub and the blood that gets off at the second floor have yet to appear. But, I can’t be bothered to clean the floors or cook dinner. Why is it that the day when there is finally more than enough time to get things done, I can’t seem to move? Ah, the irony.
If any of us has gone truly crazy, it is the cats. As I type, they are playing some cat war game – crouching, attacking, falling off the piano and pretending that part was on purpose. The worst is that they visit us in the middle of the night in their boredom, yowling like the cat demons have possessed their souls. I keep hoping fearing they will get lost in a snow drift. The snow is deeper than they are tall.
Today we dug out the car, and it took an hour. After we unearthed it, it still didn’t want to move. After spinning tires, coaxing, pushing, and salt applications, we managed to budge it. For all the good having a car does.
There is a conspicuous lack of long stemmed roses in our home on this fourteenth day of February. Of course I don’t blame Cedric for not going out to buy roses, since it is technically illegal for cars other than emergency vehicles to be on the roads. I don’t know if Sir Lancelot would have let such a thing as that stop him from delivering roses to the lady Guinevere on such a day as this, but don’t read me wrong! I would never complain!
Louison has been unaffected by the snow. Perhaps he is just too young to suffer psychologically from impressions of entrapment. Or, maybe, he has the shining.