Dead Salty Winter

Russian Christmas has now passed. (The Russians have a tradition of celebrating Christmas weeks after we already suffered through it once this year by consuming mass amounts of cabbage and celebrating loud farts afterwards).

The frigid temperature of January has settled in. My paws now ache every time I walk. Thick layers of ice cover the frozen ground, and landlords refuse to do anything about in Logan Square. God forbid the city provides any services for its residents. The only benefit received from the horrid conditions outside is the joy I get from licking the salt of my furry paws. This salt is used to melt the ice on roads and sidewalks, and it gets stuck deep in the crevices of my toes. I am almost 100% certain the chemicals in this salt will lead to cancer of the testicles, and then I remember that I do not have those, courtesy of My demonic Master. I look forward to coming home to my toasty apartment, despite our less than classy neighbors and the constant beeping of horns as people treat our alleyways like freeways.

I have been working beyond my usual hours. I work from home most of the time. I work at my leisure so I can enjoy the occasional peanut butter chewy or a nap in the sun. New investments from China have forced me to go to the office and train new workers; this has been a pain, but in the long run the monetary awards will reap vast benefits.

I still struggle with my time in the shackles of the CTA. Snobby women with overpriced accessories sitting on the outside seat, homeless men overwhelming my sense of smell reeking of alcohol at nine in the morning, gross men spread eagle while I am scrunched in the inside of the seat as they snore away. I must say, I am a small creature, but I feel like the CTA takes away every bit of my personal space and dignity.

The New Year has presented me with many challenges, like that of losing my holiday weight. The cross fit training so far is okay, but I have not been going enough. I switched to light food, but I can still feel the fat on my stomach jiggle as a trot about.

I long for warm days spent carelessly.