Snow falls for the 37th straight day this month. I fear I shall never feel the warmth of the sun on my face again. It was especially apparent after my flip flops packed their bags, gave my stack of dusty shorts an uncomfortably long "goodbye" kiss and boarded a bus to Mexico this morning. My snow shoveling boots, drunk with power, mocked them as they neared the front door. I waved to them as they fled in the taxi cab, barely acknowledging me from the back window, but deep down, I know it was for the best. Someday perhaps, if this desolate winter ever decides to discontinue punishing us for a crime apparently too unspeakable to know, we shall be reunited. Running merrily towards one another atop a flowery hillside. Leaping into my welcoming arms before placing them gingerly upon my calloused, weathered feet, destined for a lengthy, well-deserved stroll along a coastal beach. But until then, I have... forget it. This sucks. I hate Wisconsin. Rage. Building. Too. Intense.