Melting walls of styrofoam
The month of March is filled with the color green. It seems that this month and this vibrant color go hand-in-hand in welcoming spring. The shamrocks, the green grass sprouting, the buds forming, all give one an insight to the coming months and the new fresh start about to brew. The season of cold, coughs, and the unbearable walk from your warm, cozy house to start the pile of junk sitting in the driveway, otherwise known as your car, is finally coming to an end. Finally ending!Now, maybe my joy isn’t shared with my fellow Coloradans who tend to love the snow-packed mountains. Maybe the people who chose to live in this great state, who flocked to these ice caps for recreation, don’t share the despisement that I feel for the low temperatures. The cold temperatures are just one the many reasons why my pile of junk’s engine won’t turn over, but unlike my car, there is hope for me. This hope lies in the vast green land that begins to develop into a reality during the incredible month of March.The excitement of the coming months is not only apparent within this crazed, sun-loving little surfer trapped in a Coloradan’s body, but teenagers and society everywhere, experiencing this hemisphere’s warming season.Being in high school also means being concealed in one building with at least 200 people who are all aware of the warmth occurring right outside the windows that were created, not to bring the warmth in, but instead, to taunt every sun-craving student to the point of insanity.For example, the windows in our new, impressively large “learning institution” do not open. That is right – windows that were originally created to bring the outside atmosphere into one’s house or building are now converted to mock the very essence of my being. They are created to remind me and the other 200 students attending Grand Valley High School that we are trapped inside this building that has enough temperature variations to be easily confused with a 50-year old woman going through menopause. Having such windows should be outlawed. They counteract every happy thought of the coming season. These windows do not provide the therapy we all need from this great month. The things in life that seemed to be my demise during the winter season, the problems that seemed to be massive walls made of styrofoam preventing me from moving past them and experiencing happiness again, need to crumble. The walls that wouldn’t budge, regardless of how much force was exerted to break them down, the walls that didn’t even weigh as much as my left pinky toe, need to diminish on their own. The obstacles that mocked me as my attempts to overcome them became about as successful as my crazy dog’s attempts to chase our outside cats as far as his little legs will allow him, while still being contained inside separated from his “prey” by a spotless, closed sliding-glass door can only be overcome with the presence of sunshine. The winter season seemed to make life’s lemons sourer and even more unbearable. But as the sun warms, these lemons sweeten more and more. The ripe lemons become not as sour, and the lemonade is again bearable, but only due to this warmth.So the question of how the insanity within every student developed is answered. The reason why all motivation to stay indoors and write the article that is due to the editors tomorrow is faded and the only culprit, the true maker of all this mishap, lays in the unopened windows. As the desire to spend as much time outdoors increases the desire to accomplish anything worth accomplishing fades, as well as the cold and any color other than green. March brings insanity, March brings new life, and the reminder of the old one that is still waiting to be completed, so here’s to March, to the ridiculousness of unopening windows, here’s to the greatness of the pile of junk overheating instead of being to cold to start, here’s to not allowing a giant wall of styrofoam control your sanity, or the absence of it.A senior at Grand Valley High School in Parachute, Nicole Loschke writes a column that will appear in the Post Independent once every month.
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