The weather here is on
crack. Seriously. Crack.
Swear to god. Crack.
For a while this afternoon
I put on sunglasses. Yup, sunglasses –
right after we get four more inches of snow dumped on us and the temperature plummets
about thirty degrees in a matter of hours.
We’ ve had about forty inches of snow in seven days, and we’re due for …
what did they say … ocean-effect snow … a foot or more … this weekend and up
through Tuesday.
Thanks, Mother
Nature. I have a ticket to the Beanpot
finals Monday at The Garden, right in the middle of your next batch of
bullshit. Thanks. Bitch.
I admit that I walk right
past the icy melt this afternoon in the store.
I have some at home, but it won’t be enough. I see the display as I’m leaving the
store. Do I go back and buy it? Hell, no.
Screw you, Mother Nature. Bite
me. Eat it. Ice up all you want. Ruin the Beanpot. Split my fingers and toes and hands and feet
with your dry, frigid winds and your evil white precipitation.
I figured out how to deal
with you and your nasty crack-addled weather: I keep shovels everywhere.
Yup. I have shovels near the doors for easy
grabbing, and now I keep a shovel in my car.
That’s right, you heard me.
In. My. Car.
Yup, I keep a shovel in my car for those times when I have to shovel my
way back into the driveway. Like this
afternoon after it snows four more damn inches during the day. I come home, tired and cold from the Arctic
air (which I really should be used to by now since it has been here since
Thanksgiving), ready to sit down and relax.
But, no. I have to drive right by my house and park on
the street because there’s so much new snow that the neighborhood kids are playing
in my driveway, playing … in the snow … like it’s a goddamned park and not a
parking space. Out comes the
shovel. The wind whips the snow right
back at me as I struggle to toss it up and over the giant snowbanks. Thirty minutes later, the shovel is back in
my car, and I am jacking up the heat in my house to 76 in order to get the
blood back into my extremities.
Like the weather, I’ve
cracked. Not only is my skin cracking,
but my resolve is cracking. I don’t mind
the snow, but every day? Every damn day?
Until I see the sun today, I do not realize I’m in withdrawal. So, be on crack, weather, and I’ll be the
last one standing. Of course, I won’t be
able to reach the top because the snowbank is too high, but, damnit, being
cracked doesn’t mean I’m broken.
Bring it. I’ll shovel your cracked white shit all the
way to the too-high curb. It might well
be futile, but I’ll do it anyway. Like
you, I never give in and I never give up.
Bring it.
