What boils my egg

Greetings, my friends, and welcome back to school. After a long, wintery break, the spring semester welcomes us all with a sun shining a radiant, blossoming light upon the campus, providing us with warmth and love. At least, this is what I spent my night dreaming of in January, and it was that same morning that I awoke to see the ground glassed over with ice and broken dreams. So, it is only fitting that I come to this ironic conclusion…

You know what really boils my egg?  

Winter time. I can no longer stand the sub-zero conditions of a forever-whitened Christmas season, the act of slippage down a steepened hill and breath that is so visible that it could be found in most current Kodak moments. This weather must change, and it must change now.

I was born in the fine state of Pennsylvania, where we pride ourselves on having seasons. As a child, snow days were a treasured gift from God and utilized for the activities of snowball fights, sledding and a monetary exchange for the service of snow shoveling. Now that I am an adult, I am slammed with the reality that snow and  ice are dangerous elements, sent by the forces of Hell to make me play “catch-up” on my work.

In all seriousness, I have never received such a deadly blow to my education. This is money that we are spending, out of pocket and loans, to sit at home or in our dorms. The professors are doing their best to accustom their methods towards temporary internet classes, and administration is looking out for the safety of others. That is why my blame falls solely on the uncontrollable power of nature.

And here is where the problems reach their peak. Most of my “boiled eggs” are events that can be controlled by some factor, be it the plasticity of students or the overtly-heightened expectations of professors. Nature, on the other hand, is virtually out of our grasp. There is little to prevent situations such as these from arising in the future.

For now, I ask of you all to remain patient. This season will come to a close, for the groundhog Punxsutawney Phil has not seen his shadow. Spring will come, my friends. And Winter Semester 2.0 will change for the better.


Consider this egg: boiled.

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