This is the time during the winter where you officially are obligated to say that’s it, I’m finished, I’m done, it’s over, another snowfall will kill me and if it doesn’t, I will kill myself, because really, winter, you’ve gone entirely too far. Really, winter.
When E and I booked our fancy vacation the hell out of winter, I thought we should go as soon as possible. No, E said sagely, as he has lived in winter climes for the entirety of his life, we should go as late in February as possible. Because that’s when we’re going to be sick of winter. That’s when we’re going to need a break. But I want to go nooooooow, I whined. Believe me, he said. You’ll be grateful at the end of February. You’ll be glad we waited.
I would like to be grateful and glad we waited but I can’t right now because it is a week and a half before we’re in temperatures above freezing, and in the meantime, snow keeps falling from the sky in blizzard-like sheets, and I can’t get warm and I keep slip-sliding over the ice, starting to fall, jerking up, starting to fall, jerking back, starting to fall, jerking sideways, so that I look like a marionette with a clumsy drunken monkey at the strings. I kind of wish I would just fall already and break something and never have to leave the house again. I kind of regret writing that sentence, because my next post is now obligated to start, “Remember when I said I wanted to fall and break something? Funny story…”
This morning, three cars were stuck in the snow that came down last night. The snow is now almost to the top of my boots. The top of my boots is almost directly below my knees. I have stubby legs, but that is still, you must admit, a lot of goddamn snow. It is less snow than some people have, I am sure, but it is more than enough snow for me, is what I am saying. It is snow that used to make me go “snoooooow!” but now makes me go “graaaaaah!” which is a sound that neatly combines rage at the elements with despair for my continued survival.
My hands are blocks of ice and my fingers barely bend. The tip of my nose is gone. I am snow and freezing wind all the way through to my core and back outside again. Blankets do not warm me, hot showers do not thaw me, life is very difficult and I miss you, the sun. Where have you gone? Why have you forsaken us? You are yellow and warm. I remember yellow warmness. I remember having toes. Those were good times.
There are some things I like. Pretty pictures. Hiking around the mountains with the dogs who love bounding through the snow and catching snowballs. Not being in the snow, because you are inside with a guy who’s got a core temperature like a furnace and does not mind being used as a blanket. I’m fond of hot cocoa. Tiny marshmallows are a miracle of the future, but it’s not enough any more.
Winter, I am done with you. Won’t you please get finished with us? Won’t you please wander off somewhere else where they are very tired of high temperatures and sunny days and picnics in the park and swimming and ice pops and bare toes? I’m sure they’ll be happy to see the backside of all that bare skin. So to speak. Go where you’ll be appreciated. That is my advice to you. That is my advice to everyone, in fact! Go where you are appreciated and loved! Thank you, winter, for making me see an important life lesson. Now get the fuck out.