Dear Winter,

It's mid-March now, and I've noticed that, well, you're still around. I was going to say something earlier, but last week it appeared you finally conceded the floor to Spring. But this morning I awoke to snow. I did my best to convince myself that it was simply lovely white petals from flowering trees adrift on the warm breeze, but my frozen ears and nose forced me to face the truth. It's time for an intervention.

Seriously, Winter. You need to give it up. It's over. Accept it, let Spring do her job. You proved your point, you drove me to the point of near-insanity, but after last week's 60-degree temps, now you just look sad and pathetic. You realize that all the other seasons are laughing at you, right? I mean, seriously. It's MARCH. You've become the Gary Busey of the weather world. Do you really want to end up selling prayers to the desperate on the Nominal Christian Channel? Pack it up, go to the Southern Hemisphere for the next six months and GET OUT OF MY LIFE ALREADY.

You suck and I hate you,
C.