This kind of weather with the ground all melted and refrozen doesn’t feel like March to me. I step outside on my way home from work and it’s November. I’m sliding my way down the sidewalk scanning for the bare patches of ground that allow me to step mit feelink and I know it’s just going to get colder and colder until I die.
Of course it isn’t actually November and the winter didn’t kill me. In fact, i never has killed me. And this walk home is different because my muscles are ready for this kind of treacherous traversal of ground. All the tensions they need to anticipate wrong movements are primed and ready from the last five fucking months. There’s no ache when I arrive home. And it ruins the lies I’m trying to believe so I’ll be surprised some day when it gets warm and stays there. For a while.