I Don't Want to Hurt Like This Anymore

My proverbial ass has been kicked.

Old Man Winter, AKA Jack Frost, has done whupped me good.

It isn't the dirty snow.

Nor the salted crust on my car.

It isn't the 90 days in a row below freezing (only a slight exaggeration.)

It is the sting of sub-zero air on my delicate epidermis.

The burn of frost-nip on my fingertips.

The shock of icy air in my lings, dropping my core temp in an instant.

I want the hurting to stop.

I want spring.