Groundhog day certainly is a poorly thought out holiday. Is there any climate in the Northern Hemisphere in which it is not the case that either (a) there isn't really a winter to speak of, or (b) winter is guaranteed to drag on at least through the end of February, no matter what? Oh, well, at least groundhogs are plump and cute.
Speaking of things either coming to an end soon or continuing as they are for weeks longer: On the one hand, I am ready to be rid of this comic novelty watermelon. On the other, I want to prolong indefinitely the period in which we do not yet have a screaming baby.
Our house is so nice and quiet. If anyone is shrieking, it is me. ("ArrrrrgggHHHH why are all the things I want so close to the ground?" and "FUCK I HAVE PULLED A MUSCLE JUST GETTING OUT OF THE BATH" are both favorite themes.) As long as I keep my mouth shut, though, I can enjoy the soothing susurrus of central heating, punctuated by nothing but the tap-tap-tap of laptop keyboards and the occasional schlurp of Steve's coffee.
And when I feel like it, I can just stand up and do what I like. I can bake a cake or read a novel or go pull a muscle in the bath. Or I can go to work. Damn.