why not hell

february is the month where your skin has been stretched so dry, your wrinkles have been sculpted so well, and your spirit has literally frozen up so much that you start thinking that hell, with its roaring fires and crackling embers, may not be so horrid afterall. nursing the fourth cold this season, i am writing this. outside there is a blanket of snow that is turning into rancid ice. inside, i wish i had a fire. i would like to roast chestnuts just to smell them. i spend my time painting the walls in my mind and watching home and garden television. there is something reassuring and so simple about their shows. i imagine backsplashes for the kitchen. then unimagine them. i visualize trees inside the house, while my plants are begging for water, scorched into a torrid brown by my carelessness.
even the patients in the hospital are in no hurry to go home these days. i despise the month of february. may it pass quickly.