I’m Losing It
I Hate Winter
There’s no pleasure in “layering up” when cold weather arrives
I’ve avoided it for as long as I could, but the day has finally come. I trudged to the basement this morning and retrieved the gloves, hats, scarves and coats tucked away from last year.
It’s officially cold-weather season.
I loathe it. I grew up in Florida, so I will always be a warm-weather girl at heart, and while I like the idea of the seasons changing, I could very much live without December, January and February up here in Chicago. I avoid close-toed shoes as much as possible, and I even wore flip-flops outside last week, much to the shock of friends. At the bus stop, the other moms laugh at me, shrug their shoulders and ask, “Where is your coat!?”
I just can’t bring myself to go there when it finally becomes time to go there. To layer up, cozying on into the warmth of being inside all winter. Because when I do, I end up hibernating worse than a mama bear suffering a case of postpartum depression and seasonal affective disorder. That’s me in the middle of winter.
So I ignore it as long as possible. I pretend that just because I can see a glimmer of a sun streak, it means it’s warm outside.
And maybe that’s quite possibly why I’ve got a pain-worse-than-labor ear infection and sinus infection combined at the moment. Maybe I need to start taking care of myself when the seasons are nudging me along, when the leaves are blowing, whispering to me, “Hey Stephanie, get out of the cold, get on some warm clothes, because your old friend Mr. Winter is on his way.”
And, yeah, he’s not leaving anytime soon.
Bring it on.