I'm afraid of Winter

I'm afraid of winter.

It's too soon and too cruel for October to be this cold. Actually, it's not even October. It's the Seventh March of the year, and I feel unaccomplished and actually very very afraid.

I'm afraid of winter.

I haven't had a garden spring in the wild grasses and dirt. I haven't even stepped into one single swimming pool in the summertime (which should be forbidden to me considering the ridiculous amount of serotonin, grunts, whees I produce there, absorbing unlawfully and greedily big blobs of sunshine) but heck, winter.

The amount of sacrifices I have made to my spring-summer-esoteric-ritual-fest is equal to the amount of sacrifices expected of a female in an Indian household. I'm so afraid I'm praying! And though I doubt whether anyone is listening, I say "Please" every few minutes, but you smirking Energy, don't ever see me, okay? DON'T. EVER. (Please?)

I'm afraid of winter.

I'm not ready to shiver in the bathroom waiting for the water to heat, I'm not ready to scald my skin with literally boiling water when it does heat up, I'm not ready to hear my shower opera performances as croaks and my grand shower soliloquies as whimpers. I'm not ready to let my fingers go stiff and numb as I type and my teeth go cchhtttdddnnn-tttdddnnn-hoooohhohhohh, clattering as if that laughable activity will produce some flint induced raving fire in my dry mouth. I'm not ready to stare into the early morning carpet of the God couple and find myself in their basement, where there is no heater. I'm not ready to sleep in a heavy blanket (ok maybe this one's too much, at least I get Sleep. and Warmth.). I'm not ready. I'm just not. And just because you saw the Wish-granting factory go out of work for a while doesn't mean MY designation is not Mine anymore. Please, Universe, stop pretending you don't care about Me and My expert opinions. Please. Please.

I'm so afraid of winter.