Guitars, Puppies and Key Strokes

It's 11:00 p.m. and I am grasping at the last hour or so of my night. On the bed in the corner are a friend and two dogs. The sound of the snot through their noses as they bite at one another and the snap of the friend's "no" play in the background of the guitar strings on the right of me, on the floor. Ani's voice is the only thing missing in the string screech. The space heater buzzing to my left.
A peaceful Tuesday evening where the wind is so cold they say the rain might turn to snow and people are doubling up in beds because the radiators in the apartments have gone on the fritz. I dread that cold, even though I will go home to an overly warm room. Dressed in so many layers I feel like the kid in the Christmas Story who can't put his arms down because his mom dressed him for the Arctic.
My first snowy winter seemed so exotic to me. Out from the west coast in that strange Northern city, snow made me think of the cute sweaters on T.V. Who could have guessed how totally wrong I was. Now, even 5 years later, and a move further South, I can still not fathom the desire to live in a snowy state. I don't crave the desert from which I migrated, but I sure don't crave these crazy wintery days either.
S.A.D. - Seasonal Affective Disorder. Why didn't anyone tell me that such a thing existed? I may have changed my mind pre-move, but then again, probably not. Always out to figure out on my own how terrible things can really be before I learn to take the easy way out.
But as for now, I enjoy my time here. Wrapped up in blankets, smothered by dogs and warm arms, listening to the sounds of an acoustic guitar that I have loved from the start. Most of the time I don't know the words, but I know the rhythm by which I type.