Rhi Axtell – Writer

It’s cold.

It’s dark.

It keeps raining every time I try to go outside.

I hate it.

I am trying not to think that the weather is going out of its way to personally attack me, but it is certainly starting to feel that way.

Back when I was a wee laddie (that is Scottish for ‘small boy’) of around 16 and a half, I remember telling my friends how I wasn’t like everyone else. I loved winter. I loved the cold and the dark and how everything was so cold and dark was my favourite. Not like stupid summer with its ‘warm and pleasant evenings’. Bleugh. Sunshine? The ability to move around outside? Ha! No thank you! (Who wants that, am I right?)

Sigh.

Yes, I was one of those people. A liar. A full on liar.

I thought it would make me cool, or something. But, let’s be honest, the Magic Card collection that I dragged around in my backpack was doing that for me.

I now only occasionally lie, and only to get out of things I don’t want to do, and mainly to myself.

But this is something I can no longer lie about: I hate the cold/dark/wet combination. I am in a state of constant, miserable, grumpiness.

I wish I had a cool flourish, or a positive word to end this blog post, but I don’t.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my cave of blankets and grumbling until it is Spring…