Winter Blues

Winter is usually a great time. The chilly air, snow, all the themed crap that takes every cent I barely have. It’s just a great time that I thought I loved. That is, until this awfulness where I live began to spread like some kind of wintry virus. We already have snow from a snowstorm that happened weeks ago. We’re marinating in bitter cold, wobbling on ice, and sweating under layers too keep ourselves warm. It sounds like the “typical Midwestern Winter”, according to my neighbor. It just…feels like something more. A LOT more than the usual Winters we’ve been having. I guess this is an upgrade? I haven’t been on this earth long–just 29 little years of life–but I thought I had an inkling as to how Midwestern Winters worked. After her smart ass comment, my neighbor’s words just kinda hit me–maybe I don’t know.

Did I love Winter because I wasn’t in it that much? Did I love it, because I had no job, no school? Did I love it because I got rides everywhere, and wasn’t as fat years ago? Maybe I loved it because of the hot chocolate. Maybe I loved it because of all the themed scented candles and pastries. Maybe, I liked it when the temperatures were on a predictable scale, and everything wasn’t making my eyes water and boogers freeze. Perhaps I loved the idea of Winter, and not Winter itself. I’m starting to feel like it’s time she and I break up. I’m starting to feel like I need to marry someplace warmer and kinder to my lungs and body.

I don’t think I love Winter as much. She’s been under 30 degrees Fahrenheit for a while now, and it’s starting to be a very ugly trek block to block atop ice and un-shoveled snow. It’s starting to really dig in my craw waiting for the dang bus atop a hill of dirty snow and slush. We’re supposed to get rain on Tuesday, but I don’t know if that’s going to freeze, or if it brings relief to wash the snow away. In any case, I’m tired of Winter. Can she go already? See you next year? Hopefully with cuter sweaters, a bigger hat, and some fine hunk of man in my bed?

The usual protocol–suck it up like a Chicagoan and weather the storm. Been there, done that. Now I’m an annoyed Chicagoan trying to get to and from school in the middle of morning and afternoon rush hour, respectively. I don’t want any trouble, just a seat on the damned Red Line Train to 95th, and a quick departure from the bus station. I’m asking for the moon, because I don’t know how long it will be before I graduate. All I know is this–I’m tired of the Winter. Set these pear-shaped curves free, so I can show off my poor fashion taste of hoodies, shirts, and ill-fitting jeans. Set me free, give me chips.


Back to writing sticky poems about guys I have crushes on.

Feelings Wearing Running Shoes

I reflect and confess a lot in my poetry. As crappy, sad, and schmultzy as it is…a lot of my soul is inside those words and phrases. So, I broke down one night and got very real about something I’d been fighting inside my head and heart. I stopped fighting in that moment, and said I ached for someone. OH! It felt so right, it felt so good to get it off my chest. I stopped caring what persons x,y, and z would have to say. I looked over my constant editing of the self. I just said it. I put all branch-ings and complexities aside to write. It felt like a good idea, despite my usual stack of worries and embarrassed feelings.

48 hours later, I swear it was like a light just flashed on in my head. What did I write? Why did I write that? The taboo topic I say I will never write about again. Yet every time (almost) that my heart and mind go there, my fingers are dancing on a keyboard. My pen is scribbling bullsh*t in a poem book. What’s going on here?

The self-examination of Veronica Rochelle is an ongoing thing. Believe me, I’d love to be able to stop it. I have tried, and that’s where the overflow comes. Yet, some ideas and sentiments are just toxic. I feel like this is one of them, and I need to make a greater effort to refrain from entertaining it. As my SGI family would tell me, this is a Gohonzon moment. This is a daimoku moment. This is one of the things that is holding me back from dating again. Because it took so long to find that person, get involved, blah blah. No matter how long ago it was, the scars ran so deep that it laid an impact on my ability to move on. That’s…actually pretty sad.

It’s all such an imperfect process, but even the wake up call wasn’t enough to push me out of the deepest holes of the denial maze. That’s when you know it’s toxic for you. Not everything is worth a stanza. In that moment, I was acknowledging the feelings I hated the most. The feelings that mattered to me, but were obviously never going to be on the radar of the other person. I didn’t need them to be. That, honestly, was only half of my feelings anyway. The other half is fully away of the sorrow, heartbreak, tears, and effed up situations. All the aching in the world wouldn’t bring them across the bridge, and it’s better that way.

With all of this awareness and honesty, it was a reminder that it’s time to keep walking in this world, and find some new topics. It might not be the romantic overture I’m looking for, but it will expand my horizons. It will stop me from dancing the same old tired two-step. I think that for starters, I will write about people I see daily in life. Not negative things, but positive things. Neutral things. Things that are observations. That way, I won’t have time to reflect on people who probably can’t even remember my name.

Besides, not every feeling is permanent these days. They all seem to be wearing winged shoes, flying all over the place, running races, and disappearing into the night. They don’t stay long enough (most of them) to be determined as to whether or not they’re valid or fleeting.