I wish winter would die in a fire

I hate winter.

And before anyone asks with the snark “Well why do you still live in Connecticut if you hate winter and the snow so much?” the answer is because I share custody of a child with someone who wants to see her every week and I’m not a bitch.

But this fucking sucks. (There will be a lot more swearing, you’re warned.)

I just want to go closer to the equator, to a place where I don’t have to deal with snow.

I want to never, ever see, feel, touch, or hear snow falling around me ever again in my entire life, not even once.

No more white Christmases. Ever.

I am allergic to winter. I’m over it.

Yet here I am, buried, trapped inside my house with snow knee-deep against my door, and snow with the audacity to be thin enough to see the grass in my neighbor’s patch of yard on the other side of my driveway.

I hate snow.

I was fucking pissed.

But you know what I did today? I used that hateful anger that boils into a rage within me, and I shoveled myself out today like the badass bitch that I know I am inside.

I went out there and for two hours (on and off between breaks sitting on the stairs in the mudroom to prevent my nose from falling off) I did indeed make that pile of snow my bitch, and I’ve cleared myself a path out.

Yeah. It’s hard to see here, because there was no way in hell I was going back out, after removing my boots and finally warming my buttcheeks and nipples, just to take photos.

Oh, but tomorrow, I will. Tomorrow you may see the glory of my path out of this frozen hellhole, I mean my driveway.

Meanwhile, I’m going to self-medicate with a number of different drugs to see if I can get anything to touch this aching in my arms and shoulders.

I’ll pay for my badassery tomorrow.


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