I'm (No Longer) Dreaming of a White Christmas

It's late at night, I have a cold, it's the end of my first semester and I'm not yet tired, so it's time for what may read like a stuffy head-induced ramblings. But I feel like times like these, it's when you're the most truthful because there's really no running commentary in your head that can second-guess every single statement that you're saying/writing. And this is my blog so I can write about whatever I want in however way I want it.

When I was younger, I wanted four seasons. After all, I was living in California, which is not necessarily known for it's diverse temperatures. Then I lived in England for a while and I had my first real snowy winter. And by snowy, it snowed for about two weeks, the university shut down, then everything melted. It was a fluke of a storm.

But no, there are no such things as flukes or halfhearted weather changes in Syracuse. When it snows, it snows. Here, it snowed for four days straight. Which meant that when I left for my weekly excursion to New York City for my last week at "Back Stage," everything was clear.

Then I came back and it looked like this:

I wonder if anyone ever died by falling icicle...

This was not a measly two inches worth of snow. No, it was about a foot and I could easily step in it and my entire leg would disappear (and be subsequently soaked if I walked back inside). And the most amazing aspect was that the snow does not stop! All through the night, and through the next day and the day after that...

Now, I realized that snowfall is only good if a) you are playing in it or b) you are inside where it's warm and admiring it as it falls. Otherwise, it's not so much romantic as a genuine pain as soon as you step outside and realize, the sidewalks have not been shoveled so you'll have to dig your way through the powder in order to go home (same aspect applies to your car when it's buried underneath the snow) and the cold air chills all of your extremities that are not covered.

My Indian roommate, Avantika, who was excited when the snow first fell, has now been silenced into a despondency at the realization that: a little bit of snow is lovely but a lot is a pain, and it makes everything really cold.

England made me realize that one so I went straight from intrigued to frustrated.

I think I have fulfilled my childlike yearning for a white Christmas. Though there's three more months of this...which I'm not sure how I will cope. Nothing that a good pair of snow boots and a long down-filled coat can't handle.

I'm ready to go back to California for Christmas now.