Pulling for Summer

In an effort to free up some space on my harddrive ("13.9 GB and you've got 12.4 GB used?! What the Hell have you got on there?!") so I can load XP, I was perusing through my picture folders looking for things to delete. There are 54 folders, each with an average of 200 pictures. I can't help it if I'm a fanatic! I love my Olympus, I love my family, and I love taking pictures of one with the other. I've burned them all to CDs but I'm afraid to wipe them off my overstuffed harddrive for fear the CDs will fail me. Maybe I'll burn them again. I’d feel better with two copies. Anyhow, I was looking at pictures of summer barbeques at City Hall and summer birthdays at the Woody family's extra-rural home and country picnics and spring branding and drives up in into non-snowy mountains and fishing trips and lazy lakeside afternoons. And suddenly, even though I've complained lightly about it before, I really CANNOT STAND that I live in a place that has about three and a half months of summer. I suffer from Seasonal Affectation Disorder (S.A.D.), a condition where winter just plain pisses the afflicted off. Even though I may go cross-country skiing this afternoon, and I love to skate and sled and I love nighttime bonfires beside the ice ponds, I would still much rather be at Bear Lake on the white sand, staring out across water so turquoise that most people think it's been dyed, on a day so hot that any movement brings on sweat. I just miss green and blue and red and yellow. I get so tired of gray and white.