It was January 1, 2012 in Chicago. The temperature outside was 44 degrees. It dropped into the thirties and twenties, only to creep back into the fifties. I saw a few moving black, pesky spots with translucent wings here and there. And though it snowed from time to time, the flakes turned to dust before they reached the ground, in spite of all its might to permanently bond with the soils. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad year.
February made me quiver, with the notion of temperatures more typical of March and April. I ran out of patience for the cold and snow. I was fumigated. I was despondent. I was melancholic. It was the winter of my discontent. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible no good, very bad year.
March came, and I hoped it would make up for my lost winter. Instead, it turned the other ear, and it brought an eerily May-like heat wave. To make matters worse, St. Patrick’s Day felt like the Fourth of July.I may have endured it, but now I felt that all hope was lost.
I think I will move to Alaska.
April and May continued the long, hot, dry trend for Chicago. My body began to broil with all its salty waters dripping right before my eyes. My respiratory system was flooded with pollen, mold, mildew and grass. My health was crass. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year.
June, July and August came, and they were more of the same. My lungs swelled, my nose turned bloody red, my salty waters dripped from my eyes. It was almost as if the Grim Reaper was knocking on my door, asking me to come with him into the black hole on the other side of the universe.
Thank, but no thank, I told the Grim Reaper. I think I will go to London, instead. At least they have the West End girls.
Thankfully, September, October, and November came with a break from the heat. Yet, I am now hearing that the December to Remember may feature more torch, along with the Mayans’ prophecy on the end of my existence as I know it.
Mother Nature wants to give Europe winter this year, not us.
It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year.
I hope and pray that in 2013 or 2014, I will be in a place where without a shadow of a doubt, I will have winter six out of twelve moons a year, especially in Anchorage.