Well, here comes the snow. When I woke up, it was snowing. When I ate lunch, it was snowing. And now that it's dinnertime, it's still
From what I hear, it's gonna be snowing when I go to bed, too. And when I wake up -- snowing. A full day and a half of the little white stuff. It's like a rave at Darryl Strawberry's house, or something.
(Okay, I'm stretching a little. Shaddup. I'm snow-shocked, all right? Cut me some slack.)
Anyway, between my wife and I, we've shovelled the shit three times already. And there's three or four inches there now. (That's three or four inches outside
, by the way; not three or four inches 'between my wife and I'. Don't be a perv, dude.)
So, clearly, we're gonna be shovelling again tomorrow, and more than once. The alternative is to let a foot, maybe foot and a half, of flakes to pile up, and do it all at once. Yeah, that's not gonna happen. I've got enough problems in life without trying to move snow piled up to my ass. Seriously, there's Sisyphian futility, and then there's Sisyphian futility. And try saying that
three times fast.
I suppose I should invest in a snowblower at some point. (Hey, I just bought the shovel yesterday -- baby steps, people. Baby steps.) Even with that, the steps -- all thirty-nine of them -- are going to be a manual challenge. But easier is better, even if it only gets me halfway home. I think I need to rethink this whole 'home ownership' crap. Nobody told me about this shit when I signed the mortgage papers.
And for now, I think I've had enough. I'm not gonna shovel in the dark, that's for damned sure. And I'm pooped from being out there in it, and a little stir-crazy, to boot. There's nothing on TV, and nowhere to go. So that's it -- fuck it, man. I'm goin' to bed. With any luck, I'll sleep for twelve hours, and wake up at a normal time tomorrow.
Yeah, and have to shovel snow. Again
. Screw that. I'm shooting for thirty-six hours, just in time for work on Monday morning. How many sleeping pills do you have to take to manage that?
Where the Hell Was I?