Idio-stu-cracy: A Narrative with the Seasons

The romance is over, the honeymoon holidays are long since past and we’re left with the bitter cold resentment of a broken relationship. It’s been a long six months, I think it’s time we go our separate ways. We both knew it would come to this.

You used to be attractive and exciting, lightly sprinkling your snow over dry dark boughs. Now you’re aged, cold and bitter. I’m afraid I’ve grown a bit shallow over these past few months. The sidewalks are crusty and calloused with ice; the snow banks are dirty and grey. It’s too much to handle.

Snowflakes and your scent in the air used to bring memories of childhood snow forts and the enchantment of Santa Claus, chestnuts roasting on an open fire and the warm feeling of good cheer. Now it’s just a reminder that you’re still here, everywhere I look I see you.

Can’t you accept that this relationship is over? Why do you make it so difficult? Isn’t there someone in Russia you should be bothering? Norway, Greenland? Anywhere?

What I always forget looking back upon our Hollywood romance – Winter, you’re a bitch.

Maybe it’s time for a break – I need some time. Don’t call me I’ll call you.

For a week I flirted with spring and summer, remembering the good times we once had. A golden glow washed over me as the sun lightly touched my skin. But as the week progressed I knew I had to go back. Summer was too flirtatious and frivolous; I couldn’t get any work done. I get lost in that carefree nature. Winter kept me inside where I could focus on my work without temptation of lethargy. You’re hardworking and headstrong, laborious but respectable. Winter, you push me where I need to be.

I thought that after our break you’d calm down, maybe even warm up a little.

“It’s okay baby, I’ve changed. I’m a whole new season now. I’m playful, serious and mysterious…”

That’s how you got me back, but was there really a choice? I should’ve known it was too good to be true. You always ensnare me with that romantic past.”The holidays wouldn’t have been the same if I wasn’t there. Summer certainly didn’t give you a postcard Christmas. Where was he then?”

Everything seemed perfect again when I returned, until Winter found out the nature of spring break. I spent it raking, but many of us were half naked sprawled out on the sand, enveloped by summer’s warm touch. Winter is a very jealous creature.

“How could you?! You were always so conservative before. Was it all an act, layered shirts and long underwear? An open toed shoe or a V-neck sweater was as risqué as it got. I hardly ever saw a skirt above the knee, and certainly not without those leggings you all wear. Floozy! Whore! How could you get that close to summer after only a few hours? Have you been thinking about him the whole time? Where did I go wrong?”

The wrath of winter was unleashed once more. That warm sun-kissed Monday was a mean tease.

From inside the shelter of McCain Hall I watch the wind whip snowflakes violently across the sky. I can hear your fierce battle cry as you torment those who pass by. I can feel your cold icy hand scrape along the ridges of their spines.

Eventually, we will drift apart. But there is something about the strong will and forceful nature of Winter which brings us back together year after year to do the same awkward, fumbling dance; the awful relationship from which you cannot escape. I’m moving on, but I can feel the spite of Winter building as each day passes. Bring on the waterworks, unleash the flood. I wish you didn’t take this so seriously.

The days of romance are over – for now…

(revised August 17th to correct byline)