I alway try to stay away from the obvious. I won't write about Valentine's Day on Valentine's Day. I won't write about a certain product or tool when everyone else is throwing in their two cents about it. If it's International Bipedalism Awareness Week, I'll probably write about my cats and people with no legs.

Okay, I became depressed at the same time that everyone else did and wrote about it, but I was selfishly trying to maintain a level of sanity that would afford me employability and a longer life.

And then, there was those few times that I did engage in memes, but don't we all want to feel like we belong? (Strangetingling, I am getting to that meme you tagged me with).

But normally, I try to avoid what feels expected, what I keep running into over and over every time I click to another site. I can only read so many variations of how awesome or not awesome that soap company's ad campaign is before it's just so much of I-don't-fucking-care.

And yet, I am here today to tell you that I AM SICK OF WINTER, just like three thousand other people already have this week. The weatherperson on the television has told me on several different episodes of the evening news that we should be experiencing above freezing temperatures within the next few days. They have told me that it would be sunny and then there has been cloud cover. I have expected a clear, windless day only to find myself being whipped with ice crystals on the way to the bus.

I am beginning to think that the weather is experiencing some attachment issues. It knows about global warming. It has to. It knows that it has to face some very big changes over the next while, and it does not want to go gently into that good night. It is feeling a mixture of fear and neglect, and it is fighting to be heard.

I have come to the conclusion that the weatherpeople have been going about their business as though they are dealing with 1950s weather . It is the 21st century now, and they need to get with the times. Gone are the days when the weather was content to be discussed and photographed and filmed like a Hollywood star. It was young then and more easily satisfied with the superficial limelight. But, the weather of the early 2000s has needs, and it wants to be understood. It wants its existence to mean something beyond mere conversation fodder in the world of humans.

Oh, you and I both know that the weather controls food and water supply, can change the mood of entire nations, and can alter the life cycles of whole species, but the weather doesn't know that we know that. It doesn't know that we feel that. It thinks that it is being taken for granted, and that's partially why it has been putting up such a fuss lately.

Here's what I propose: the weather people should turn weather reporting on its head. They should report us to the weather. When a weatherperson is outdoors, bracing themselves against gale force winds for the sake of a television segment, the weatherperson should, instead of telling us what the weather is obviously up to, tell the weather about us. Let the weather know how deeply affected we are by our cars' refusal to start and the softening of our bodies and the dismal psychological deterioration from months of watching a static white, grey, and brown landscape. Tell the weather how much we admire its ability to bring out nature's spring and summer finery. Tell it that we care.

Certainly this might have some affect. I'm not just a conversation piece to them! the weather will think. I truly affect them like no other. I am not a mere diversion from their petty, workaday lives. I am important! My hope is that the weather will not feel so compelled to stamp down the mercury and blow ice crystals through the cracks in my window frames, that it will understand the depth of its effect on us mortals.

I know, this whole talk-to-the-weather thing sounds crazy, but shouldn't we at least give it a try? It just might loosen the weather's stranglehold on maintaining our attention like a needy child. We need this to happen. I need this to happen.

You see, I am crumbling bit by bit. Where once I faced the weather with a prairie stoicism, I now do so with derision. I am mad at it and its stubborn resistance to change. I stepped out of my apartment building today and put my foot into a pile of snow. My ankle froze, and my sock is still wet. My shoe smells very dog-like. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that it felt good to light a cigarette and spew contaminants into the weather that dumped that snow. It was like spitting in the face of adversity.

It is getting to a point where our relationship is going to become too adversarial to be easily mended.

So, go outside. Turn you face to the sky or into that blast of frosty wind, and tell it how you feel. Tell it how important it is. Impress upon the weather that we are well aware what a dominant force it is in our lives. Do it for me. Do it for all of us.

* This is the sort of entry that I will look back on later today and go, oh bloody hell, I'm turning into a hippy. Is this my punishment for refusing to shave my legs since last August?

Because You Do Care What I Ate For Lunch