Monday, December 14, 2009

Cold Sores

Curious. Dozens of complaints without a single compliment or praise. About the snow, the wind, the cold. Nasty stuff, eh? I mean, what's to like about it? Being cold literally shuts down the body, slows the blood (turning blue?). The wind gnaws at the skin and the snow blinds the eyes and gets in your shoes then melts and your socks are all soggy and you're sitting at lunch feeling awkward because your freakin' feet are soggy and that's all you think about while everyone else around you is talking and laughing and having fun.

Cold Winter weather is just so... detestable.

I love it. I am completely in love with it. Winter is so beautiful, so charming, so peaceful, so dead. She is my joy, my solace, my mistress.

Why in God's name would I love something that makes my face freeze and my snot runneth forth?
It is me. I am Winter.
We share so much in common, my mistress and I. We are cold, bitter, uncaring, sad, dying, we cover up dirt with a beautiful layer of pure white snow, we get pissed on by dogs that leave sickening yellow stains all over our beauty, we are trampled on, pushed aside to make way for others, plowed, blown, hated, cursed, and rolled up into balls to be thrown at stupid little kids who don't know any better. People don't understand or appreciate us and care to do neither. When the rain comes, we soak it in and freeze, becoming more bitter than ever.

This is my season. This is what I relate to. I belong in the Winter. Maybe I'm weird. Maybe I'm bitter. Maybe I'm just upset because of all the revoltingly pretentious air that surrounds the upcoming holidays. Ironic that I hate this part of the Winter, yet it's my season. What does that say about myself?