STARTING TO GET TO ME

I don't feel like writing tonight.  I don't even feel like talking.  I am totally toast from the snow.  I'll admit it -- it's starting to get to me. 

Today my neighbor in the connecting townhouse tells me I can't put my one small trash bag in the garbage cans.  "Use the ones for YOUR side," she says, equally annoyed by the weather.

"Um ... those ARE the ones for MY side.  Those are for EVERYONE.  Just because I haven't used them before doesn't mean I can't use them now."

"Well. you can't use them.  They're already overflowing."

Hmmmm.  So I go inside and check the trash pick-up schedule.  Interesting.  There's no delay this week, even though we are under a state of emergency while desperately trying to dig out from yet another terrible dropping of white shit from the sky.

I shuffle back out to the end of the driveway and leave my trash bag.  I am in a pissy mood, so I don't bother to tell the neighbor about trash pick-up.  I'm too spent to walk around the snowbanks and through the snowy street and other driveway to be a nice person.

Guess what?  Twenty minutes later the trash truck comes by.  Did the overflowing cans that I apparently am not allowed to use ever make it to the curb?

I don't care.  No. really.  I. Don't. Care. Anymore.  And it has nothing to do with my neighbors. 

I'm tired.  I'm toast.  I can't function anymore.  Everything is too white, too tall, too suffocating.  Even my windows are covered with snow.  It's like being inside a giant white prison, and it's starting to get to me.  It's starting to get to us all.