Published in On Our Selection News April 10, 2014

I just put the fabric printer cover around my shoulders and yelled “don’t look at me!” to my colleagues.

No, I’m not suffering a breakdown, I am just a little bit chilly. That’s right – winter is coming, and I have not braced myself for the crisp onset very well. In fact, I would say that I am not ready at all for the frosty winds of broken souls. I don’t even have a back up cardigan resting on my chair, hence the dash for the machine cover. Thankfully, a kind-hearted co-worker had a pashmina stashed away, which I am now draped in instead. But I do still look slightly crazy, as pointed out by my boss, who labelled me something akin to a “bag lady”. Unfortunately, this similarity will continue as the months get frostier. In fact, I think there’s a scale that has a sharp line demonstrating the link between temperature and social acceptability – as temperatures plummet, so too does Dannielle’s adherence to social norms.

As the months drag on, subtle changes take place, which culminate into my morphis from a model young lady to shawl wearing, cackling old hag with a horrid temper and an overwhelming desire to knee children in the face.

The initial stages are terrible jokes about the cold. This is similar to the denial phrase of grieving – I make jokes to distract myself from my sad reality. In fact, I just engaged in this phase, making a series of terrible jokes with the mail lady. “See you later,” she said, unknowingly setting herself up for the sharp sting of a painful pun. “You SHAWL-y” will,” I proudly responded. When the jokes dry up (along with my skin from those harsh winter winds) I grow bitter, and start cursing everything. The frost. Inanimate metal objects for being cold against my skin. Small children for having the nerve to be joyful in a world full of sorrow.

Somewhere around the new financial year, I start bringing a blanket to work. Usually, I am able to restrain myself to a reasonable draping over the legs, tossing the blanket aside when I come into the line of sight of customers. But there are those days when the blanket is draped over my shoulders, and because I have yet to buy a cape, I have to take on a particular stance to keep the blanket on my shoulders. The hunched over posture is not noticeable when I am seated at my desk, but when I am up and about (say to make a cup of tea, or to yell at kids to get off my lawn), I resemble the typical hunched witch from cautionary tales warning children not to eat other people’s houses. I walk around in this manner avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the office. However, sometimes an outsider makes their way into the wooden icebox that is our office building. Apparently, this kind of behaviour is less than professional, so I must either disappear or straighten my spine and remove the blanket or shawl I happen to be wearing. My senses become very acute, and when I hear the jostle of our door knob, my eyes narrow and I scuttle out of sight, cursing the heartless customer for forcing my de-shawling.

Yes, Winter is coming. And perhaps we should brace ourselves. You may think that you know what’s in-store, but you know nothing. For the Winter is cold, and full of nutjobs.