It’s Raining in New York City
It’s cold in River City today. Not just cold but blustery, freezing, frigid, witch’s breast, top of the morning, icy outside. Normally, I would be complaining over hill and vail about how cold it is outside, how I wish I were someplace warmer, does Ecuador take visitors this time of year, how I never knew a margarita could freeze like that, yada yada. But not today.
No, today I’m not even slightly fascinated by the fact that it’s raining and a balmy 55 degrees in New York City while Austin, Texas, a point much further south, is facing a mid-day mercury rising of only 27. This doesn’t bother me, it doesn’t make me think that something’s just wrong with the world, it doesn’t infuriate me, or drive me to points further south.
Something’s happened to me. I think I have actually become a Texan, nay, an Austinite. I don’t care about New York City anymore (well, apart from that fact that I have random scatterings of family still living in the wilds up that way.) I don’t care what the weather is outside of Central Texas. Waco is just so far away it’s off my radar, never mind New York City. Why should I care about places afar when I’m here? This is my home. This is my turf. This is my temperature. To Hell with the rest of the universe. You can keep your damned 5th Avenue hovels, you can have your Plaza, your Waldorf, your subway, your Yankee Stadium. These things don’t impact me anymore. I’m too busy living in the here and now which, at this moment in time, happens to be Austin, Texas.
I do hope you win the World Series but that’s only because we don’t have a baseball team.
Until next time…