I have my very own special tradition during long cold soggy days in New Orleans. I ignore all phone calls and the fact there's an exterior world and lock myself in my apartment where I eat the contents of my fridge, and pretend that I don't ever need to do the dishes. Then my dogs and I give each other doleful looks across the room while I sit and ponder what to do besides eat. Usually this entails looking at a clock and thinking that 4:30pm might be a bit too early to call it a night.
I spent today working through about 8 hours of obligatory films: The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Doctor Zhivago, The English Patient. I am really a shell of my former self. In the latter, when he comes back to get his lover's body from the cave all I can think about it how bad that must smell and he's lying right next to it. Gross. But then again, it was the desert, so maybe she was just drying out. Still, she looked a little too pliable when he was carrying here to the plane.
See, here's why I don't want to get involved romantically. In the end, someone has to deal with a body. Or worse, they get pregnant - but I guess that still counts.
It needs to stop raining.