I know, it's a tired complaint. Really tired. I complain about it all the time. I can't help it. I do try to love it; I try to make it work for me. Every year I'm hopeful it will get better. But it hasn't gotten better in 18 years. In fact, after 18 years I think it's gotten worse.
What if you spent three months out of every year waiting for them to be over? What if you spent six? What about eight? What if you spent eight months out of every year wanting to skip them? That seems like an unacceptable number. That seems sad. That seems like too many months out of the year.
The rain. The darkness. The clouds.
They're simply not for me. They're simply not who I am.
