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Winter
Stop With The Snow Now, Thanks
Enough. Enough now.
As we meander into the second late winter of quarantine, I have nowhere to turn my natural, irrational ire. I can no longer muster outrage for the same things I did last March. I’ve sputtered out. I can’t reasonably be annoyed by life’s little aggravations, when there is so much going on. Complaining while healthy in a pandemic is bad form, even for the chronically negative personality type.
So where to turn? To snow obviously. I now have redirected my misguided, and possibly clinical tendency to be angry, to precipitation. It keeps coming, I keep moving it, and it blows back at me sometimes. It gets so dirty. How many dogs are there really? The defiled piles tell the stats and my calculation equals way too many.
Of course, my snow snark excludes the magical first flakes of the season, whenever those float down. Also, it excepts and accepts all of December’s snow because at that point it is still aesthetically pleasing.
January: Early January is a deceitful devil that sees an above 30 degree temperature, leading you to believe that this year will be nearly snow-less. You get cocky. You run out of rock salt in December, and choose not to replace it. You realize you left a beach chair in your car and you think, “Maybe I’ll need that soon,” and leave…
