I like being outside. I understand that this might sound strange, coming as it does from someone who reads a book and a half a week because he spends two-plus hours a day reading in the shower. So this statement does come with a qualification; namely, I like being outside without doing much of anything, including but not limited to running, hiking, jumping, and generally moving at any speed more than 3 miles per hour (and with frequent breaks for resting and/or ice cream).

Believe it or not, being outside was part of what I missed about NYC when I lived in LA. Yes, LA has far better weather, but I enjoyed walking to and from work each day in NYC, passing about 10,000 people on each thirty-minute walk, taking in the sights and sounds. Once a weekend I’d put on my iPod, head out of my apartment, and just walk – from my place in Little Italy to the (way) West Village or up to Central Park or through Alphabet City and up the east side, stopping along the way to have a beer in a random bar or grab a bite to eat. It was wonderful – I could walk in NYC every day for 20 years and on each walk, find or see or experience something totally new.

(I’m sorry – did I just slip into my Carrie Bradshaw voice there? Further: do you think less of me because I made a Carrie Bradshaw reference? You should. I am ashamed.)

Of course, LA offers a number of things to do outdoors, but, as alluded to above, they were not my speed. That is, they were too fast for me. In LA, you can drive to a place to go hiking, or you can drive and run along the ocean, or you can drive and, I don’t know, find some other outdoorsy things to do, but you can’t put on your goddamned headphones and go for a nice (yet exciting) walk.

So when I moved back in NYC, in addition to eating and drinking at a number of different places and seeing and hanging (and potentially making) out with a number of different people, I was greatly looking forward to my walks. Hell, when looking for an apartment, I limited myself to downtown, so that I could walk to work each day. I was going to walk all over this damn town. Walk, walk, walk.

And after moving here just after Thanksgiving, I did. Sure, it was cold – but I love the cold! I hadn’t had real, lasting cold in eighteen months! So bring it on! After all, I have certain genetic and physical advantages over most normal human beings that allow me to thrive in the cold (beard, layer of body hair, layer of body hair under that layer of body hair, etc), so I did not shy away. Though the temperatures never really dipped below 40 or so, I still trudged to and from work each day, 1.9 miles and 40 minutes each way. Love it.

But then, just before the holidays, the wind shifted. Literally. Long gone were the reasonably cold winter days, replaced with a string of bitterly cold days and nights, complete with snow and wind. A passing phase, I thought, as I prepared for Christmas and splitting my time between NYC and Philly then NYC and Philly then NYC again. The cold spell would break in no time, and we’d be rewarded with a nice stretch of 50 degree days in there somewhere.

But that was each ago. And – guess what? – it’s still really fucking cold out.

And it’s definitely getting to me. I feel like I spend my days going from my apartment to the subway (two blocks away) to the subway to my office (two blocks away). The other day, I tried to walk to and from the East Village to get my Sea Thai, but I had to take a cab back, as it was too cold. Tonight, I wanted to hit the grocery store after work, which is about nine blocks/just about a mile away (actual shopping list from the “Notes” app on my iPhone: Pam, yogurt, cake(s), bread, funnel, plunger). Instead, I came home and ate a burrito. So I guess I made out ok there. But you know what I mean.

(I can see the emails now: “Hey, nancy, I live in Canada. Do you know what the fuck temperature it is here right now? -132. Yeah, -132. So why don’t you take your positive wind chills and barely-freezing air temperatures and bring them into the tub with your candles, vibrator and US Weekly, and just make a little party out of it, ok?” That’s fair. But there’s this: I don’t care. I don’t live in Canada, and I’m cold. So, shut up.)

And the cold is just generally making me feel down. It’s a strange thing, because I love my place, love my job, love being back in the city, and had an enjoyable holiday, but…meh. I’m tired. I’m cranky. And I’m realizing that I’ve seen just about every single fucking episode of The Office, Family Guy, Dateline and 48 Hours: Hard Evidence, so I probably shouldn’t even bother DVRing them anymore.

But still, though I feel almost as though I’m in prison in my little LES apartment, I remain hopeful. I realize that full-on warmer weather is still several (several) weeks away, but I don’t care about that – I don’t need 72 and sunny to make me happy, or else I would have stayed in LA. Instead, I have much more modest goals. For example, maybe a 48 degree day in the near future? Maybe even two in a row? Maybe even something a little colder thank 48 but that allows me just to walk home from work once or walk to and from the grocery store without feeling the need to take a steam afterwards? Maybe?

(Saturday’s forecast: Sunny, with a high of 25 and a low of 14.)

(I guess I’ll have to wait a little longer.)