This morning I looked at the sun for a good, long while and realized that I was like, an hour late to work. Fuck.
It's getting hotter outside.
I love the winter. I love, love, love the winter. Wrapping and locking my scarf in place, the heft of winter boots, pink cheeks and snowflakes. Breathing out, watching yourself live. Look. There's proof, right there, that I just took a breath, I can see it. Don't shiver, it wastes energy. Makes you tired.
I feel so much more alive in the winter. You have to try to live, you struggle through the wind, refreshed that you survive.
I like everyone all packaged up and meant to be opened. Boxes are equalizers. Some are larger, some are smaller, but in the end it's just a box, and who knows what's inside? It's harder to notice how slender and tight that package is, compared to mine, which is much softer and rounder. Not as round as that one over there, thank god, but I've been imperfectly wrapped. Uniquely so, if you ask me. True, true, no one's packaged quite like me, and I like that, even though my ribbon doesn't really match my paper, and I didn't do it on purpose. Not like some people and their intended mismatchy ribbons. I just picked up the first ribbon I could find. As long as it's a ribbon, you know?
Summer is just complete horseshit, and I'm jealous of everyone who likes it. Everyone's all glisteny and brown, and I can't get glisteny and brown like all of them, and being soft isn't acceptable in the summer. No one likes soft girls, not when they can see them unboxed. Summer is a sexy, sexy time, and have you met me? I am not sexy, I don't think I've ever been called sexy in my life. So I have to pretend to be harder, on the inside, as if a pale matte finish doesn’t bother me.
Don’t you think I would prefer to like summer? Wouldn’t it just be easier, in the end, if I could be miserable in the winter and carefree in the summer? It wouldn’t be as lonely, that’s for sure, as taking solitary snow walks and hiding from a heat wave.
But they’re all so happy, and everything is golden and warm, and it’s hard not to be thankful that they’re all so happy. I’m proud that they squeeze the sun so tightly that it takes her all winter to flesh out again.
And I do love to be outside, but not when its sticky. Spring is heavenly, fall is breathtaking, winter is thriving, and the summer is depressing.
So I just pretend that I want to be there. That oh, yes, it’s glorious with the heat, I’m so glad you guys can wear skirts and be all leggy and gorgeous. I know, I could wear shorts if I wanted to, but the fact of the matter is, if you had my legs you’d hide them too. Yes, it matters. Yes. It matters. Shut up, I know that you don’t care. I fucking care. No, I’m fine in my jeans. Really. Yeah, I don’t mind. No, it’s fun peeling my pants off like a bandaid.
Oh, no, I’m not looking forward to summer at all.
And I want to go camping. Like, yesterday.