stopping by the woods on a snowy evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost

Alas, no snow for us. Today, in the depths of January, it hit 80 degrees Fahrenheit. What the hell is this? Suck it, gulf coast. I'm moving to the coldest, most isolated part of Finland I can find as soon as I can.

I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and it's looking like none of that is going to be accomplished tonight. I really need a better work ethic. I suppose I should feel some remorse for my blatant laziness and procrastination, but I don't yet. I will later, as I always do when I'm rushing to finish work under pressure and stress, but I never learn from my mistakes. Right now, my bed is too lovely, dark, and deep.