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.


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