Winter. Like a bully she elbows her way into my life each year, her brutish stride destroying so many of the things I find pleasant. She turns my world monochrome, dark and cold, and I am once again left without any options but to curse her. And I curse her – over and over again – for Winter’s stay is far too long here in the north, and I grow increasingly sick of her presence with each passing year. Sweden, I ask myself, why the hell do I live in Sweden?
Many Swedes tend to talk about their love of Winter, but these people are deluded. They are her victims, suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, and they cannot be argued with. Yeah, skiing is pretty nice, but I can’t see any ski boots on your feet. True, the snow can be beautiful, but once we leave the office it’s already far too dark to see. Indeed, Winter makes us appreciate Summer more, but like a disease makes us long for health I’d still prefer to stay healthy.
I wish I didn’t hate you, Winter, but you are misery.