I am angry. I'm angry about the fact that I have this stupid column to write, angry that I've a paper due Friday, angry that most of my friends are out of school already, and angry that I could be playing Frisbee -- not disc -- instead of doing any work.
Obviously, the source of my aggressions is the weather. It has been conspiring since the beginning of time, as well as this year, to make my life, and the lives of many, difficult.
The pilgrims had to deal with an awful winter in order to survive in Massachusetts. The winter at Valley Forge almost destroyed Washington's troops -- it was much more effective than the British. The summer heat in Gettysburg made a mockery of medical science. the list goes on. For me, however, it began this fall, when I came here as a freshman.
"Oh you'll love Dartmouth," my sister told me. "There is so much to do there." This may be the case, but old man weather has certainly done his part in keeping me from experiencing them.
In the fall, I took the first few weeks of the year quite seriously. Fretting about the intense workload of an Ivy League school, I would promptly run to the Tower Room and go straight to work.
As the weeks wore on, I began to become more relaxed about my workload, and started thinking about all these wonderful activities Dartmouth supposedly offered. But, at the same time I began to relax, the weather suspiciously turned on me. Coincidence? I think not.
The rain began to fall, the leaves were blown off by ferocious winds, and I was left to rot in my room while the foul weather acted as my prison keeper.
A similar situation happened in the winter. Allegedly freak storms occurred each free weekend that made itself available to me. The weather even tried to keep me in Hanover for a period during spring break. It failed, but it did give me a few hours of rest in Boston's Logan Airport.
Now, it is obvious that the weather once again is plotting to crush my already fragile psyche. That's right. At the beginning of the term, when free time was more than just a pipe dream, I had mystic visions of canoeing on the Connecticut. Unfortunately the man at Ledyard claimed that the water was too cold. This in itself seemed suspicious.
Now, because we've had something on the order of two weeks of perfect, incredible weather, even thinking about doing work is near impossible. The sun taunts students to come outside, and blow off their work.
But what does it do then? That's right, we get burnt. Our punishment for trying to have a little fun. Again the weather tries everything in its power to stifle me.
Conspiracies are rampant in American culture, but don't discredit them immediately. Obviously the evil weather has been behind many. Who knows, it could have even been responsible for the magic bullet. A good wind could have aided Lee Harvey in his attempt to squeeze of three quick rounds. Back, and to the left ...
