The winter is a terrible thing. The winter is a virus. It’s a curse. It’s a plague wished upon me by someone I apparently treated with unspeakable disregard. It’s never fleeting, obviously, because only good things are fleeting. Summer, now summer is fleeting. Each day goes by more quickly than the last. The days are 24 then 12 then 6 then 3 hours long. The sun is living inside your skin, creating a new super organism, granting you the ability to stay awake forever and to never, ever, not for one fucking second be sad. But winter is a cold, bitter, hateful bitch. You seal your doors and windows, wrap yourself in blankets and flannel, but she creeps in through the most minuscule pinholes and kisses you on the cheek. It’s not a good kiss or a thoughtful kiss, though. It’s spiteful. It comes from a place of darkness. It’s a slap in the face.
In winter, I retreat further into my literal, physical comfort zone to hibernate and live in denial. This seclusion does wretched things to my mind. I’m not sure where the thoughts come from, but they appear; thoughts of smashing things or being dead or eating every pizza ever. I guess normal people might read a book or run on a treadmill, but I’m not normal and a treadmill won’t fit in my basement. I need some sun, for Christ’s sake. And not the winter sun, either, because that shit is not sun. It’s an impostor. It’s a frigid, piercing impostor, tricking your mind into thinking that it’s warming the earth, but instead it makes everything twice as cold. It’s the reverse sun. It’s the bizarro sun and it’s here to enslave humanity.
An easy remedy to the situation, one might think, would be venturing out into winter, spitting in her face, and having super fun awesome times. I have tried this, my friend, and sometimes it is successful. However, it’s nearly impossible to continue with regularity. Here are some reasons: A. My city is a death trap. It is literally dead. There is no fun to be had here, via any establishment or service offered by any business to aid in the inception of fun. B. I don’t know anyone. I have friends and people I hang out with. We share common traits, such as living in the same city, enjoying professional football, and we manage to tolerate each other, for the most part. But I have no great friends. I have no confidants, as the Golden Girls once celebrated. We mostly just go through the friend motions, which are generally pleasant and sometimes rewarding, but I still feel like I’m on the outside of something, looking in. C. Work. For some reason I have to ‘work’ to earn ‘money’ to pay for ‘car insurance’ and ‘food,’ and this ‘money’ is limited and only provided bi-monthly. Otherwise, honestly, I’d hop on a plane and fly to
fucking space Florida or something. Yes, I know planes don’t fly to space. Yet.
All I’m really trying to articulate is that I hate winter and everything that it brings. My brain chemistry changes. It makes me hate things more than I already hate them. A pessimist with seasonal affective disorder is not the first person who usually gets invited to the party. Oh, also, D. There are no girls. All the girls are not here. They are everywhere else (or maybe nowhere else) but they are certainly not here. I love girls, you know, because they are cute and small and sweet and you get to make out and all that shit, but I’ve honestly run out of them. Not to quantify girls as an item that one stocks and restocks, but it makes me feel quite empty. It’s nice to share things with someone. To laugh with someone and make fun of lame people with someone. It also helps if this someone is a babe and half who likes Wes Andy movies, you know? Anyway, the girls are all gone and I’m wearing a hole in my mattress by sleeping so much. Soon I will be sleeping inside of my bed, with the springs jabbing me in the ribs, but that’s whatever. Winter makes me super bored and super blah, so if you want to talk and be friends, that’d be cool as long as you’re cool and not some lamer who watches Glee and listens to Bruno Mars.