FlogDailyHerald: A breakup letter to winter


I wasn’t going to write this. We’re not on speaking terms right now and I know that. But my therapist says it’s important for me to say what I feel. Maybe it was sometime after falling on my ass for the fourth time on your sleet/slush/ice pathways of doom and misery. Maybe it was after having hands so dry I’m starting to think I may be of reptilian ancestry. Maybe it was after being forced to wear so many layers of clothes I’ve forgotten what my skin looks like (although when I catch a glimpse of it, I look like Casper the friendly ghost’s CRANKY FUCKING BROTHER). Somewhere in there, I decided to end my silence and just say write you this letter: Winter, we’re through.

I know you think we’ve had good times, but I want you to know you’re wrong. To what exactly are you referring? Skiing? Cute, Winter, real cute. I know you’re SUPER into jumping off of mountains when it’s freezing while your feet are in plastic cages that are permanently glued to two enormous sticks that are impossible to walk in, but I want you to know it’s dumb. Skiing is dumb. I’m not saying if you like skiing that you’re dumb, but I am thinking it.

What? Snowball fights? Yeah, good times. I love that delightful stinging sensation around my wrists and ankles where my skinny bones crackle with fury that some dick thinks ice is fun to throw. Oh! Yeah! Snowmen. What memories! I love it when I spend hours working on something that disappears the second the water decides it wants to be water again.

Is the sidewalk a castle? No? Then why is there a moat around each one that I fall in EVERY TIME BECAUSE MY LEGS ARE TOO SHORT TO JUMP ACROSS A SMALL LAKE. Make up your mind. Are you water? Ice? Sleet? Slush? Hail? You are not James Franco, Winter. You cannot just be a little bit of everything.

But I guess it’s not entirely your fault, Winter. You were going to be here no matter what. It’s those idiots who thought living here would be a good idea. Clearly they weren’t into stupid things like iced coffee and scantily clad women. No, dumb ass colonists thought it would be much more fun to see who made it through March. Ain’t no party like a natural selection party because a natural selection party don’t stop.

So yeah, Winter. I’m out. Temperatures shouldn’t be like golf. They should be like every other sport where high numbers mean you’re winning. Get it together, or get out.



PS: Norway has more medals than us in Sochi. Winter, you disappoint on a national level as well.

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