Next time I quit my job, remind me to hold off for five months.
Could there be three worse months to be idle than January, February and March? Even if the weather starts to turn next month, all that means is that I'll be able to spend more time outside stepping in dog shit.
What was I thinking?
June 1st - now THERE'S a day to stick it to the man. I could have spent the past six weeks bicycling beside the lake, rollerblading on the Lachine and/or Soulange canal(s) and enjoying cold beverages at trendy sidewalk cafes while watching the inevitable steady parade of beautiful Montreal women pass by. I could spend the next six weeks lounging poolside at the Baie d'Urfe Aquatic Club, doing crossword puzzles and reading hardcover military history tomes in between flirting with yummy mummies and creeping out 17 year old lifeguards. I'd even have a tan, which may seem presumptuous coming from an 8th generation Irish-Scottish redhead, but when I've got the time to work on it, even I can morph from emergency room scarlet to a semblance of golden brown.
But no, I had to get all principled and walk the plank when it was morally the right time. My reward - besides the respect and admiration of colleagues who are similarly disillusioned but not crazy enough to quit - is being stuck in the house with my two year old daughter, whom I love dearly but with whom I would rather bond at Dairy Queen than over whichever stale crackers are left in the pantry.
Oh, I know I could always "embrace" winter. After all, we're hardy Canadians. We thrive in this climate. It's a big part of what makes us who we are. I bought that line of thinking right up until I was about 35, when I started to understand why people who could afford to went south for the winter. If you want to ski and snowshoe and skate, Godspeed. I envy your commitment to making the best of the worst time of the year, meteorologically speaking.
Captain Scott tried to embrace it. Look where it got him.