As we slipped into March this year, it seemed like I wasn't going to get dreary about the end of summer the way I usually do.
I've moved into a warm flat, I wasn't working all summer so I got to go to the beach and bask in the sun a lot, and towards the end of February I was getting sick of wearing shorts. Generally speaking, I am more of a winter person. I like being rugged up and going for walks in the brisk air, and I'm a horrible, angst-ridden musician and it's much easier to pull that off in the winter seasons.
But the end of the summer makes me sad anyway, and even though I thought I'd got away with creeping into autumn stress free this year it turns out that there are things about the changing of the seasons that I just can't stand. First things first, in the summer you can go to the bathroom whenever you feel like it, because everywhere is warm and chances are you're only wearing shorts or a dress, anyway.
But in the winter everything is cold, and even if you live in the warmest house, the place you keep your toilet would have to be a sauna to make me want to take my pants off. Every winter I literally dread having to go to the bathroom because not only are bathrooms almost universally too cold, but toilet seats are also always like horrifying sheets of ice.
And, furthermore, going to the bathroom involves getting up and leaving whatever warm nesting situation you've spent hours setting up for yourself and inevitably everything is ruined when you get back. In fact, any bathroom activity is a nightmare during winter. Showering is ritual torture, and accidentally washing your hands with cold water might be good for your circulation but it certainly isn't good for your mental health.
Secondly, if you're not a millionaire your house is never warm when you get home. You get in off the freezing streets with a snotty nose and sore ears and your house is either just as cold as outside or just cold enough that you can't ever take your coat off.
If you're doing OK financially you can switch on your heating devices and spend a little while waiting for it to heat up, but straddling the oil heater desperately waiting for it to get warm is not something any of us do for fun. Obviously this is everyone's least favourite part of winter, but I thought it was at least worth mentioning.
Finally, going to bed in the winter is horrendous. In the summer I'm so happy to go to sleep in a T-shirt under a couple of light blankets. I can even deal with waking up sweating and dehydrated.
But in the winter, unless you cover every last inch of yourself, there is a chance that your cold hands and feet will come into contact with your sheets. I might be alone in this, but I am extremely neurotic about my cold flesh touching sheets, particularly if it's my hands or my feet.
If I can't heat myself up in front of a heater before bed, get my circulation going, or stick my extremities directly on to a hot-water bottle then going to bed becomes a sensory hell. Once cold hands and feet are touching cold cotton there is no coming back, everything is ruined.
Summer lures me into a false sense of security. No matter how bad it is, it's usually pretty constant. I get used to being the same temperature inside and outside, and not having to worry about power bills and cold beds.
I'm OK with winter but it's snuck up on me this year and it's almost as though summer is punishing me for not mourning her properly.
●Millie Lovelock is a Dunedin student.
