Wintertime Blues and the Curious Cure


There are some things in life I don’t particularly like, and therefore have little appreciation for.

Fanny packs.

High-waisted pants.

Chewing gum.

Screamo music, to name a few.

Some things just make your skin crawl and cause you sudden irritation. Often without valid reasoning.

When it comes to music, I consider myself a pretty open minded person. Sure, I have my favorite go-to Pandora stations, but I give many genres a chance, as long as it can provide a good beat.

But screamo music? I simply don’t get it. It gives me an instant headache and sounds so….angry.

Big Fisch used to say, “If you read the lyrics, you’ll find that many of the songs are pretty deep…and they’re usually not angry!”

Ummm okay but…they’re still shouting. Sure sounds like anger to me.

The other day I pulled into the gym parking lot after a long day of staring at the computer screen at work.

The gym was packed with New Years resolutioners who took all the good parking. Only the dimly lit spots behind the building, next to the dumpster were open.

Great. I thought.

I was feeling less than motivated, knowing my workout partner (Big Fisch) was home sick, probably needing some dinner and a restock of cold medicine.

I pushed the car door open and stepped out into the freakish Arctic weather that had descended upon us.

The wind blew around me and I zipped my jacket up tighter as the freezing air cut through the thin fabric of my yoga pants.

Shivering, I reached into the back of my car, feeling for my headphones and gym gloves in the dark. Knowing my dad would have scolded me for parking where I had, I tried to move quicker.

Why do I always have so many bags?

holding too many bags

Just then an ambulance came wailing by and sent me stumbling into my back seat as shock knocked me off balance. As the siren faded into the distance and I regained my composure, suddenly all I could hear was a bass-heavy band practicing in the small studio that shared a wall with the gym. Almost louder than the bass was the vocalist..not singing, but SCREAMING God knows what.


I could feel annoyance rising within me, worsening my case of Monday-wintertime-blues. Yet suddenly, I had the urge to join in with the screamer.

All I wanted to do was stand there in that dark little parking space shouting AHHHHHHHHHHHHH AH AH AHHHHHHHH!

Heck, why can’t I scream too? If it’s fine for him, it’s fine for me!


I wanted to scream at the loud noises that were worsening my headache and the bitter cold air that was making my fingers and toes numb.

I wanted to scream at the problems from work that lingered over me and at relationships in my life that cause angst and frustration.

I wanted to scream at how long the painful process of letting things go and learning not to care sometimes takes.

I wanted to scream at the cooking that still needed to be done once I got home and all the guidos who took the good parking.

I wanted to scream until it was all out; all that I carry and hold inside.

But the image of standing in my puffy pink jacket, screaming at the top of my lungs while stomping my feet, was so amusing to me that all I could do was laugh.

And then it dawned on me… Huh. Maybe I get this whole screamo thing after all.

I mean, I’m not rushing to the store to buy a CD or anything, but maybe sometimes nothing gets all that bottled up emotion out like a good scream. And perhaps some of my strong dislikes can be changed after all.

Now, chewing gum?

Heck. It’ll take more than a screaming match to change my mind on that.


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