Winter Melancholy

I have always lived in northern parts, and always, therefore, endured real winter. Detroit, a forever flat twiggy-treed gray; Boston, a bumpy bitter cold snow heap trodden by an even colder bunch of austere white folk; and New York, jammed, concrete and almost season-less. It's the little things that bring season to the 365-day incessant stream of life here in the boroughs. Summer is made by tank tops on the street and vacant weekend streets, spring by Central Park hysteria, fall by a deluge of social activities, art openings and busy-busy days.

What makes winter in New York a New York winter? For me it's the beloved blizzards (or snow storms, for you Minnesotans who scoff at the drama of the word "blizzard"). As my suprervisor said as she stared down at 42nd street snow chaos, "Nothing brings New Yorkers together like Terrorism, power outages and snow storms!" True, true. Nothing does bring New Yorkers together more than buckets of snow that wall in their cars and whisk aside the petty parking rules. Trains stop running, cars are powerless, you can barely get to work, so why even bother at all. Snow days make us all seven years old again. Snow days are awesome.

So why do I have the winter gloomies? There's barely any light. I yawn, sketch out my day, and the sun is already ending its tenure. Why bother. It's nine degrees outside and my head is strained by making sure I have my hat, my gloves, my pod, my phone, my book, all in this Michelin-man coat that hides my body even from myself. Maybe because it's also still close to the weight of New Years resolutions and the pressure of momentous life change… have to do this, have to do that. February is around the corner, the shortest month in days, but-- as everyone knows-- it is the longest month in sadness, drama, and emotions. Dark days and lots of snow make sexiness harder, loneliness a lot easier. A lover's quarrel can make you feel bluer than blue... at least bluer than in other seasons. Winter Melancholy is pure because it feels endless. Thank God I have places to go, people to poke my nose around.

When is spring again? Fifty more days. I think I'll give my body a long, hot bath.