|Upon a snowy spring day
||[Mar. 22nd, 2006|04:59 pm]
I made a vow to myself last November that I was not going to spend this winter filling my journal with laments about the cold. It was rather a continual refrain the year before and got rather dull. This year, however, was going to be different.
For your part, you cooperated quite nicely. The worst of the weather came early, and the months of January and February were quite mild. My biggest complaint was the irony of being colder in the Middle East than I would have been in Cleveland, but there was humor in that. All in all, when March arrived I breathed a sigh of relief: the weather had not challenged my vows, and I would make it through without whining.
But you had other plans, didn't you? The long clemency was designed to lull me into false hope, lift my cold-hating spirits toward a false summit. And here, at the crest of spring, when my narcissus should be ready to burst forth, what do I see ahead of me? A forecast filled with snow, with no promise of temperatures even rising to 50 degrees (F) before the month is out!
I've spent three weeks staring you down, playing your game of chicken. You win! I give in! I'll say it! It's gorram, frelling cold out! I am sick of it! Where's spring! I hate cold weather! Damn! Damn!! Damn!!!
[steps back, panting]
There. Are you happy? You win.
Now, go away.