Sick of the frozen white stuff outside

Once again, it's that time of year when I wonder why the hell I chose to come to this town of my own free will. It's as cold as fuck outside and I'm looking at another weekend stuck inside my room, where my insanity runs the risk of manifesting itself thanks to cabin fever. Last weekend the "Feels Like" never got above zero degrees Fahrenheit according to AOL.com. And, of course the only activities within walking distance in town are eating, drinking, going to the library, and shopping at American Apparel and Urban Outfitters. So, as you can see, there's loads to keep me occupied.

I know, I should use this time and idleness to continue my fruitless job search, or to be creative. At the very least I could copy down lyrics into my notebook from the scraps of paper that I have stashed in various bags, "songs" that I had written while on holiday travels.

Instead I find myself growing increasingly paranoid about dying a spinster. Realizing just how pathetic my spinster aunt currently is has frightened me. I do not wish to die alone and unloved. Yet I cannot bring my heart to settle just yet. Give me a year, and perhaps I will have grown desperate enough to marry whomever will have me. I also blame this dread on Valentine's Day, which is fast approaching. Lord knows that I'll be spending Valentine's Day as I usually do, watching romantic movies alone while scarfing down a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

My impending 25th birthday also has me running scared, as I feel incredibly unaccomplished. By the time that my mother was 25, she was married with 3 children (I was born 5 days before her 25th birthday). That I don't even have any marriage prospects at the age of 25 (unless I happen to meet Mr. Perfect in the next 2 months) makes me feel incredibly behind the ball and a failure as a woman because I have yet to reproduce.

My one solace is Persuasion. In it, Jane Austen gives 27 as the doomed age at which women are too old to have any chance at marriage. Yet, the heroine in the novel still manages to get married to her soul mate and live happily ever after at the ripe old age of 27. By that calculation, I still have 2 years of being a marriageable age, meaning that I may still hope to find someone to marry.