For the uninitiated, the first time is a rush. Some quickly get addicted. Just as fast, some overdose, the problem being that we don't get to choose the amount. And this year, even the hardier among us have begun to lose their smile over the white stuff.
By the end of this week, spring will have sprung. At least the calendar says so. Mother Nature isn't so sure; she's threatening to precipitate on Wednesday and Thursday - tune in to find out whether it'll be rain or snow. She's been really #$%?&* this year; after years of abuse, who can blame her?
For the first time in my life, I will send my boyfriend to shovel the roof; a spate of roof collapses has made me nervous. I sleep poorly, and as soon as I get up in the morning, I check my old house for any new cracks (I already know the old ones intimately.)
Thus I sum up the unease I've felt all week: Horizontality allows worries to bubble up.
I doubt I'll see daffodils this year, and crocuses are certainly out of the question; I'm hoping to have grass by my birthday. Maybe lillies.
I've often joked that there should be a bylaw that states that snow is restricted to north of St. Jerome any time past January 6. Right now, I just want it all to start going away. I'm sick of the snow, and sick of hearing people gripe about the weather. So I will stop now.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment