That Time of Year
"Oh the majesty of a frozen lake!"
Welcome to Chicago in February. On days that I’m waxing eloquent, I would look at this picture and proclaim something like, “Oh the beauty!” Today I’ve had it up to here (the imaginary equator line I’m drawing across my nose) with snow, cold, and days that usually look more like this:
The beginning of the end of my tolerance of winter.
It’s now the middle of the second straight cold month without a real holiday (I’m sorry…in no way do I count MLK, Valentine’s, or President’s Day as legitimate holidays as they bring with them no merriment or lighted shrubbery.), the novelty of the whole thing has worn off, and the snow left is brown and crunchy. My jeans have salt lines running half way up my calf and my lips are hopelessly chapped. Even though it was sunny yesterday, I feel like we haven’t actually seen the sun in years, mostly because my skin, pale by most normal standards, is now become blue and translucent. Yet, all of this is superficial compared to the real reason that February starts to wear on me.
People are edgy. I’m edgy. You’re edgy. We’re all edgy. My tolerance for mostly everything is low, low, low. I’ve been snappish (some might say mean and I’m not totally in disagreement). I find myself rationalizing not going out because of the weather which leaves me isolated in my tiny (relative to the rest of the world) apartment in my tiny mind without thinking about what’s going on outside of that. I work especially hard to talk to new people. In insulating my body (which also includes the growing layer of fat increasing 10-fold with each day), I’ve insulated my whole life. It’s warm in here, yes, but it’s also testy and low-energy.
For me, there’s a mental shift when February ends. I like March much better. It’s 5 letters. It’s one syllable. Halfway through it magically becomes spring. And then it’s winter again but in a manageable cycle of 3 days. Of course, I’ll start ranting about the idiot college kids who break out the flip-flops pre-April, but that’s much more fun…and less gray.
February…don’t take this personally but we’re over. It’s me and not you.