Shall I Compare Thee To A Winter's Day?
I hate winter. The snow is pretty and the sun, when it is out, is always beautiful, but it ends there for me. It's the miserable cold that blankets Indiana at this time of year I dislike the most. It's like waiting for someone to break your legs. You know it's going to happen and you know when, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. The cold is horrible. It's as rude as a home invasion, as harsh as truth, and as bitter as the next morning. No matter where I go, it's there. In this over-priced box I call home, the only thing kept out by the windows are comatose people and animals, so the cold traipses in and out like drunk guests at a cookout. Whenever the thermostat decides to kick on, it blasts this space with heat straight from Hephaestus' forge. The dry, hot air mixes with the dry, cold air. The air, now devoid of all moisture, sucks it out of me, my sons, the wood, the plants, the dishwasher, towels, cups, the drywall,... I've awoken in the ...