It's the cold.
You walk out of your house with a certain confidence, an optimism that says, "Hey, it's not that cold outside. Perhaps if I'm lucky I won't hate myself for living in Canada today." You trek onwards with warm hands, ears and nose. And as you walk, something makes itself present. It's a feeling that cannot be truly explained. It's essence remains a mystery to humanity even to this day. The cold.
This presence knows you, and you are also familiar with it. At first you might even welcome it in defiance, "Pffft, as if I would get cold on a day like today!" And the cold simply laughs back at you. It creeps up behind you, gliding easily under your feet. It explores your entire body, hoping, knowing that there will be a place where it can make itself known; an exposed neck, uncovered ears, the little gap between your sleeve and your jacket pocket.
And still you are in good spirits.
"I suppose it is a little chilly out here huh?"
Until any chance at relief is effectively eliminated. You know you will be cold and there is no way to avoid it. You give in. Your body becomes numb from the cold, unable to face the truth:
the cold will find you, the cold will inhabit your very being. Eventually, if you let it, the cold will fill every fibre of your being and you'll find yourself the spitting image of a delicious frozen treat, with little snot icicles dangling from your nose.
The cold needs you.
It lusts for every inch of your exposed skin. Jackets and things made of wool are its sworn enemy. The cold longs for you you so badly that when it finally makes its way through an open doorway or window, hot air leaves the room to make it less awkward for the two of you. And while the heat is still something that you can get too much of, we can complain about that when the summer comes around again.
Cold is that person that you can take in small doses, but when you are forced to spend time together, there is nothing you would rather do but run away. It can take several minutes for the tenacious grip of the cold to leave your body. Even in the careless company of a heated place, your fingers and toes still are the calculated minions of the cold, bringing shivers to anything you should touch.
We were never meant to be here. Human beings were not meant to live in these unbearable conditions. We don't have fur, or blubber. Or at least most of us don't, I'm sure there's a few of you out there.
Put a naked human being out in the ice and snow and certainly they will die. Fast.
The cold is starting to get to me.
2 comments:
"...hot air leaves the room to make it less awkward for the two of you."
That's too funny.
"Cold is that person that you can take in small doses, but when you are forced to spend time together, there is nothing you would rather do but run away." lol Evan, you just summed up life in one sentence.
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