I'm ready for it to be warm again. I'm tired of this cold thing. Not because of the increased use of heating, the hazards imposed by icy sidewalks and roads (on which a friend was recently injured, which was most assuredly not cool), or the increased probability of my socks getting wet. As much as these things may suck, I'm mostly very tired of wearing coats.

I'm not opposed to the coat in theory. However, getting dressed every morning is an agonizing experience already. Counting down the minutes before I need to leave for work, I stand before my closet, perplexed and deflated. Every possible garment seems to say all the wrong things. Or I've worn it too much. Or it's too presumptuous. Suddenly, each thread in each shirt is a screaming argument for the ultimate futility of it all. Nothing ever feels right and my imagination prompts me to examine the worst possible scenario for picking the wrong clothes for the day. To select an outfit, I often have to trick myself into thinking of something else entirely, facilitating an almost subconscious decision.

Having to throw a coat on top of my selection just mucks up the process further; I have to do it all over again. Of my three black coats, which one is most suitable? Often, all three look as though they would annihilate whatever minimal statement is being made by what I'm wearing.

I long for the days when I can step outside my apartment without fears that I've betrayed my wardrobe with an ill-conceived coat choice, that my coat conceals some aspect of me that should beam forth from me, or that someone will think I wear my trenchcoat because I think I'm fucking Neo.