Thursday, February 21, 2008
Winter, I have never hated you as much as I do right now. I don't remember hating you in previous years this much, so this could be age-related. You are like a houseguest that won't leave, like a clingy ex that won't die, like a slow-moving family of eight in Times Square.
Now, don't get me wrong, Winter, you can be fun, but where's the fucking snow this season? Every little bit we got melted before I got outside to make snow angels. Did we do something for you to be so cheap? Your frosty existence seems to have no real function other than to irritate me and give me dry scalp.
Winter, I think you have it out for me as well. You cause me to spend more to get to work (I have to take the subway to avoid you and your winds), cause me to be late for work (layering takes time), and, worst of all, cause me to get fat. All I want is to go home and stay there until the next morning, eating carbs. I refuse to bundle up all over again to walk the three long avenues to the gym, although I am just now realizing that I have a yoga mat and a set of yoga tapes that will allow me to workout at home. Take that, Winter.
Because of you, Winter, I have become a shut-in, a loner. Even more anti-social than before. One of Larry's friends calls and hints at going out for drinks and I wonder if I can "accidentally" rip the cord out of the wall. My mother needs me to go to Astoria to do grocery shopping for her and I wonder if she can survive on Saltines and butter for a week. I sit there, at my laptop, hoping for someone on my buddy list to show up so that I can talk about nothing.
Winter, for all your coat-promoting, glove-enforcing, miserable existence, there is one thing I'm grateful that you do. You keep people from wearing flip-flops. And for that, I love you.
Labels: Open Letters