So Long Sweet Summer

   Fall is settling in and, for the first time in a long time, I'm finding myself seduced by the biting chill that has undercut the stifling heat of summer.
   I smile to myself as I layer fabrics on top of each other, reveling in the newness of the season.
   I'm grateful for the change. This is the first fall I'll enjoy at home since my senior year in high school. I'm missing the mountains I spent the past two autumns in on an entirely different level, with an aching, bitter force that leads every step I take.
   My new school is still odd and foreign. It's overwhelmingly large and the atmosphere is decidedly different from my little, relaxed Adirondack home. There's a pretentiousness I can't stomach. But I'm learning a lot in my classes, and, as I keep reminding myself: that's what I'm there for. I'm relieved I don't live there. The distance between myself and the self-congratulating student body is worth the commute.
   There are five classifications of students that attend my new school:

1. The Kid Who Wrote "AP" On All His Folders In High School To Remind You How Smart He Was:

This is the main group of students. They ALL carry bags and wear clothing bearing the school's emblem, as if they're rubbing it in that they were accepted. I get it, assholes. You go here. So do I, that's why I'm in your class. Now please stop hinting at what your SAT scores were. I don't care. PS: Mine were higher.

2. The Hot Girl In All Your AP Classes Who You Always Thought Was Real Dumb:

Aside from their presence, they generally offer little evidence to prove their intelligence.

3. Douchebags

Self-explanatory. 

4. The Kid You Always Thought Might Shoot Up The School

They're just as scary in college.

5. The Adult Going Back To Get Their Degree

Present at every school in the country, this is, hands down, the most annoying person at school. They never stop asking questions or telling stories about their busy lives and their children, which, unfailingly, are not as impressive, interesting, cute or funny as they think they are.

   Anyway, I had my first day of work, but it was all paperwork and orientation videos. I start for real Wednesday. And one week from now is my birthday! I'll be 20! And have no excuse for angst!

The Thin Ice

   March! Already?!
   As an angst-ridden teenager, I hated winter. I spent the entire season miserable, waning in my listless lamentations. I dreaded it annually, making charts and lists to count days until it would end. Around 17, when the all-consuming haze of adolescence at last began to dissipate, however gradually, I resigned myself to the inevitability of the season, which in Western New York, lasts about six months of the year. I resolved to find something about winter to excite me.
   The season takes a lot from me. I seek vitality from the world around me. I absorb bleakness and melancholy from winter's harshness. Until I get excited about fashion.
   For me, the desolation of winter is not overcome, but celebrated, through adorning the season in ruffles, feathers and sequins (though not all at once, mind you- wouldn't want to look tacky.) Winter becomes an image of deep-colored velvet, cascading satin and clinging lace, red lips, garter belts and thigh highs. My winter fantasies are rich with dark color, bold accents, a perfect balance of soft, floating fabrics with the rigid, structured stiffness of inflexible articles.
   I've always had the mentality that fashion is whatever I can get away with. At times, admittedly, this has led me in the wrong direction; off-the-shoulder transparent silk-blend floral shirts, trimmed in satin, draping mustard yellow tops designed for obese grandmothers, black lace tank tops over red and white striped Where's Waldo shirts- I have made some interesting choices, to say the least. As embarrassing as the photographic proof is, I still feel a twinge of pride at the reminder that I never tried to fit in. Winter, to me, is the ultimate season of fashion; I see it as a dare. I revel in the unbounded opportunity for self-expression.
   As the season begins to draw to a close, the thought of switching out my wardrobes has started to make me nervous. Brief explanation for those unfamiliar with my obsessive compulsions or the inside of my closet: I have a wardrobe for each of the four seasons. The season of a piece is determined firstly by fabric, then color. It's mostly common sense, but I have some rules that have been dubbed idiosyncratic. I follow the widely ignored rule that white is only to be worn from Memorial Day through Labor Day- a large part of what makes it so special and gorgeous. I reserve colors like orange, brown and mustard yellow for Autumn, pastels dominate in Springtime- etc. I think this is normal, but am repeatedly reminded by my Little One, among others, that it is not.  The idea of putting away the decadence, the extravagance of my personal Winter has me a little on edge. Rather than anticipation, I feel a minor sort of dread, a certain shallowness of breath.
   Then I think of what's coming; the glorious return of the sun's rays, tulips and daffodils at first peeking, and then bursting forth from the ground, the dizzying euphoria of nature's triumphant rebirth. And then: the fragrant twilight of summer, the long, clement days of alternating between soaking up the sunshine and seeking refuge in the shade of leafy green trees. Floating aimlessly down the river, dreamily running my hands through the water as it rushes by, feeling its cool comfort as it runs over me. Watching storms from porches, driving with the windows down, feeling the breeze tangle my already-messy hair. Sitting in circles around outside fires, Corona with a slice of lime, picnics, naps in the hammock in the back yard.
   Time always makes me nervous, but only when I forget how fucking beautiful every single thing has the potential to be.
   So, Winter, we're still together, but Springtime is coming and I won't have a choice. Before we know it, I'll be back in velvet dresses and hair combs, freezing my toes as I slide through the ice to the car. But until then, I think I'll enjoy our time apart. I have three separate seasons to revel in before our reunion, and I have every intention to do so to the fullest.

*** Fashion isn't the ONLY thing I like about winter. I also enjoy snow shoeing, cross country skiing and hot tubbing during snow storms. Fashion's just my favorite part and what I generally devote the most time and energy to thinking about/planning. ***