I sit here in my usual seat facing the window, and I will wallow for a bit in my misery and disappointment.

It’s been a picturesque day – snowfall for almost 12 hours, relentless, intermittent and temperamental, undecided like the way I shake salt into my cooking.

Outside I see blankets and blankets of snow – on rooftops, on frostbitten cars, on untouched roads – each mark made by human error layered with another and another layer of snow until the imperfection disappears.

I wish I had gone out there, in the biting cold, to look at the sky and feel snowflakes gracefully sinking into my face.

But worldly priorities beckon, and I can only watch from my window.

It’s a new year. Shouldn’t things be something different? Shouldn’t I have an epiphany, an urge to write down my resolutions on paper, a startling revelation about myself?

I wish I could find the answers. But I don’t even know the questions.