Snow and Substandard, Sucky Writing

Blizzard City here.  Actually, snow in NY is great fun.  I don't have to drive anywhere, and the restaurants don't close (unlike the years I spent living in the south, where an inch of snow can shut down every single business in town.  Once, when it was snowing at noon, all the stores closed and stayed closed even though by 4:00, it was sunny, and every flake of snow had melted completely.)  Today we went out to lunch in the height of the storm and had six-bean chili and grilled veggies and a Cuban sandwich and wine.  The restaurant was warm, and the snow swirled nicely outside, and it was very cozy.

One time, my partner and I stood naked on my deck in the middle of a blizzard.  (It's very secluded, and it was late at night, and anyway, what could the neighbors have seen in white-out conditions even if they had been looking out their window at 2:00 am?)  It was weird and fun.  I don't think we'll do anything similar in NY this year, though.  We don't have a deck.

The sucky writing part is twofold:  1)  I'm freaking out about the damn book I'm writing.  Again.  2)  To give myself a break from the damn book (or more accurately, from sitting around and stressing about the damn book), I turned to my entry in the Janeway Fest.  I'm about halfway done, and of course I think it's dreadful.  I always seem to write the same story:  Janeway being observed, watched by everyone from legitimate spectators at a ceremony to peeping-tom voyeurs (a parallel, obviously, to me as fan).  It's sick, I tell you.  Sick.

I'm hungry now.  The chili and stuff was a while ago.  I wish I had a huge bowl of macaroni and cheese.  Or some potato chips and onion dip.  Or a meatloaf sandwich.