Winter... shit. I'm still only in winter. Everytime I think I'm going to wake up back in the summer. When I was outside, after my first summer it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be warm. I'd hardly said a word to my snowblower until I said yes to a fresh tank of gas. When I was here all I wanted to be was there. When I was there all I could think about was getting back into the winter. I've been here for a month now. Waiting for the snow. Getting colder. Every minute I wait in the house, I get weaker. And every minute Santa drives his sleigh he gets stronger. Each time I looked around the wind would get a little windier... Not everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a holiday, and for my sins they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. It was a real choice holiday, and when it was over, I'd probably want another...
The thoughts of a writer.
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