The first snow of the year is beautiful. The world is blanketed in clean, calm white and everything seems more hushed, somehow.
Then, about three days later, the wonder's gone and I'm left with exhaustion and seething resentment at the heavy white stuff that won't stop piling up on my driveway.
Doesn't the snow know that I already hate getting up early in the morning, and setting the alarm extra early so that I can shovel my car out before work is physically painful?
It's not so bad at first. At first, I'm full of energy. The snow isn't that heavy and the wind isn't that cold. I can do this!
The world loses its shiny happy lustre pretty quickly, though. My fulcrum arm (Confession: I've been waiting for a long time to be able to write "my fulcrum arm". I think it makes me sound like a cyborg.) and my back ache from the strain. My exposed skin is icy cold, while a sheen of sweat covers my body under my multiple layers.
There's just so much stinking snow!
At least I'll be able to make some hot tea when I'm done. Of course, I'll have to go to the bathroom to fill the kettle. Why, you ask? Because the water pipes to the kitchen are frozen, of course! Three space heaters have been running for two days, and still not a drop of water falls from the kitchen faucet.
No need to panic, right? Just turn off the water to the house until the blockage thaws, just in case the pipes are damaged. No big deal.
Except that until yesterday I had no idea how to do that.
When I left for work on the first morning after the pipes froze, I imagined water gushing from burst pipes like a geyser behind the drywall, pooling in the basement. The imaginary water soaked the electrical stuff in the wall (whatever that “stuff” may be) and caused a fire while I was at work. And then the imaginary fire killed my dog, who died an excruciating death, certain until the very end that I would come open the door for him. And JP (who's been in a hot place for three weeks, far away from snow and ice and cold and shovels and frozen pipes) blamed me for the dog’s imaginary death and couldn’t forgive me and we got divorced. After my imaginary divorce, I had to move, and then I couldn’t find a job, so I moved back into my parents’ house and spent the rest of my imaginary life curled up in the dark apologizing to the dog and feeling sorry for myself.
All because I didn’t know how to shut off the water to the house.
And because it's winter and it's cold and won't stop stinking snowing.
I know how to turn the water off now. I practiced last night. That doesn't make the shoveling any easier. And I'm still kind of mad at imaginary JP for imaginary divorcing me.
A few more heavy shovelfuls. I'm almost done.
I am the overlord of snow! This snow is mine! It bows down before my shovel of doom!
Now back inside to take a shower and get ready for work. I'm running a bit late, but my boss already texted me this morning about the road conditions. She'll understand if I get there a bit later than usual. The hot water feels so good against my cold, clammy skin. At least the pipes to the bathroom aren't frozen.
I get dressed, grab some breakfast, throw my coat back on and rush out to my car.
I hate winter.
Can it be over soon?
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I'm linking up with the fine writers at Yeah Write: