Snowed in, in the Head

Okay, I don't like snow.  There, I've said it.  I'm sure it's just a failing on my part and I know it's all very pretty but it's cold and it's wet and it gets in the way - all of which are bad things in my book.

I am at Judy's house now looking out of the window.  This morning silence reigned and there was no traffic at all.  The snow outside the house lay about six inches deep.  This afternoon the road is reasonably clear thanks to the few intrepid adventurers since mid-morning and I'm guessing that for most people in built up areas getting out and about is probably pretty feasible, now that it has actually stopped snowing.

I, however, am still in bed.  And furthermore I'm fairly unapologetic about it.  There aren't too many upsides to depression but the right to choose to go to bed for the day is one of them, even though I'm actually reasonably okay today.  The reason, basically, is that I can't be arsed dealing with snow.  I don't want to spend half an hour assembling six layers of clothing in preparation for going outside to stumble around in the freezing cold so I'm not going to do it.

It would be different though if I had anything important to do today.  We in Britain are not very good at snow and I suspect that if Finns and Norwegians took a similar approach civilisation would probably break down pretty quickly.  How many of those changed or abandoned plans for the weekend really needed to be changed?  I have no idea, but I bet the Norwegians could tell us.  Maybe the larger part of being snowed in is in the head.