If you currently live anywhere in the continental northeast, then you’re probably angry. Why, you ask? Because Winter has come back from the grave to wreak havoc on the nonbelievers who’ve prematurely started to celebrate Spring. The following is a mostly accurate account of what happened to me when I woke up on the morning of April 3, 2016. AKA: the day I lost faith in Central New York weather, and, to some extent, myself, as I rapidly cycled through the five stages of grief.
1. Denial
Or, actual footage of you using your bed as a coping mechanism.
You wake up, and there’s snow outside. You remember that you’re now officially in the month of April. As in, you saw daffodils blooming yesterday and people just came back from spring break. There are two possible explanations for this monstrosity: 1) this is a sleep deprivation-induced fever dream, or 2) this is a freak accident of nature, and at best you’ll get one measly inch that of snow that will melt by the time brunch rolls around. You hope, no, you know that it’s the latter, and you go back to bed to catch a few z’s before brunch at 11 a.m. As your head hits the pillow, you effortlessly fall back into a content slumber. You’re not worried; why should you be? It’s April. Unbeknownst to you, the snow continues to fall.
2. Anger
Or, actual footage of you furiously refreshing your weather app to no avail.
You wake up a mere half hour later. There’s so much light flooding into your room that you can barely see—why is it so bright? When you roll over to look out the window, you realize it’s because the sun is reflecting off of the snow, which is six inches deep and everywhere. You narrow your eyes and take in the arctic landscape and the cyclones of fresh, clumpy, lake-effect snow whipping against your window. You turn to your roommate. “Are you seeing this sh*t?” Oh yeah, she’s seeing it. You feel the anger bubbling up at the thought of pulling on your snow boots, when just yesterday you were in Birkenstocks and a tank top. You check the forecast and see that you’re going to get snow tomorrow, too. And the day after that. And again on Friday. And Saturday, while we’re at it. This nonsense is going to last for a whole week? Not on my watch, you think, burrowing furiously back under the covers. @MotherNature: Why are you like this? Mother Nature doesn’t reply. The snow continues to fall.
3. Bargaining
Or, actual footage of you yelling at the sky and praying to every deity known to man.
“I would give my life to go to school in California right now,” you grumble at your roommate from under three different layers of blankets. “I would kill a man. I would kill several men.” It doesn’t matter. You consider just, you know, not leaving your bed. If you don’t leave your dorm, it’s like the storm isn’t even happening. You can shut the blinds, pull on your sweats, make a cup of tea, and become a social recluse. That’s fine, right? Oh, what’s that? Your roommate is reminding you that you need to eat to live? People can’t live off of crusty Nutella and instant oatmeal? You refresh your weather app again. Please. Please. I am begging you. The temperature went down a few degrees. You scream. The snow continues to fall.4. Depression
Or, actual footage of winter trying to worm its way back into your life like a lonely ex-lover.
It’s now 10:50 a.m. and you have brunch in 10 minutes. You think of the effort it is going to take to remove yourself from your bednest. You think of lacing up your snow boots and digging out your parka from the back of your closet. You think of trudging through snowdrifts while the wind whips little ice crystals into your face and up your nose. The more you think, the heavier you feel. The heavier your blankets get. The less you want to be a contributing member of society. If the world is trying to tell you that you’re destined to live as a bedridden potato, you’ll gladly accept. You curl up with your phone, ready to entertain yourself for the next 14 hours until you get to fall asleep again. Every snap story on your feed is someone complaining about the weather, including yours. You cough out a hollow, bitter laugh. The snow continues to fall.5. Acceptance
Or, actual footage of you miserably fighting your way to the dining hall.
Your stomach grumbles one time too many and you know what you have to do. You turn to your roommate. Your roommate turns to you. You lock eyes, and in that moment, you’ve both sealed your fate. “It’s time.” You suit up, with your hoodies, sweatpants, and beanies acting as your armor. When you open the door, an endless expanse of unplowed snow reaches towards the parking lot. As you trudge through the drifts, the wind chill creeps its way down your neck while, simultaneously, the snow somehow finds a way to creep up your pant legs. You think of a simpler time, when there were more colors than white in the world and it didn’t hurt to breathe. You yell over your shoulder at your roommate: “It is APRIL! A-P-R-I-L!” You say that word so many times that it loses meaning. Spring is a farce. Time and seasons are a construct.
The snow continues to fall.
