The weather has adapted itself to the darkness in my mind. Since receiving truly awful news on thursday night I've been living in a daze. My thoughts are like angry Guantanamo prison guards, whipping me back to reality whenever I dare to drift off into kinder regions of my consciousness. The temporary bliss of forgetting is always swiftly followed by the punishment of guilt. Fairness and justice have forsaken us. I have never been more sure that a god cannot exist.
For the first time in years winter feels like itself. Blistering cold, shrill winds and snow force us indoors, and as we huddle together with hot chocolate and board games, we develop Stockholm Syndrom for the hostage taker sent to us by nature itself. Sunday, usually a day for athletics and leisure, finds us confused, as the playing fields are snowed over and we wander the city aimlessly in our sweatpants, bewilderd by the disruption in our weekend routine.
The supermarket shelves are cleaned out of their chocolate milk and apple pie contents. We are creatures of habit, and the pavlovian response to cold presents itself as a sugar craving. We are cold, we are hungry, and we don't want to be alone.
Monday morning bares the ugly face of a winter hangover. The beautiful white blanket that embraced the landscape last night has disappeared, leaving nothing behind but brown slush and half melted snowmen standing lob-sided and alone in the city parks like forgotten statues of heroes past (after they've suffered a cripling apoplectic stroke). For a minute it looks like winter has left us already, to make way for the dreary autumn rains that now seem to last all year round. But as I make my way to work, the wind picks up and my vision is quickly blurred by thick snowflakes that coat the world with white. How I wish they would cover my minds eye...