Coffee Table Declarations
Monday, December 08, 2003
Why I hate living in New England: I had the worst weekend ever. We got two feet of snow and I was trapped inside my apartment. They finally plowed our parking lot yesterday afternoon and I faced the daunting task that had been looming in my brain - digging out my car. I pulled on two pairs of sweatpants, thick socks, a shirt and sweatshirt, wrapped one scarf around my head and one around my neck, put on my coat and sneakers and headed out.
I had to walk half a block to where my car was parked and then I had to find it, as all that was visible were large car-shaped lumps of snow. Finally I caught sight of it's doors peeking out through the snow but that was all I could see - nothing above or below the doors.
I spent the next hour shovelling behind the car and clearing a path on the driver's side. I felt like I was going to collapse so I got into the car and watched my heavy, asthmatic breath fog up the rear view mirror for a good ten minutes. It was at that point that I decided I was either going to give up shovelling or forge onward and face the prospect of cardiac arrest. I opted for giving up and dragged my soaking wet, broken self back to my apartment and into a hot shower. I then lay on my bed and promptly fell asleep for two hours.
Later that evening I decided, just for kicks, to see if I could manage to drive out of the snowbank I was now halfway lodged in. I threw on all requisite gear and headed back down the street into the cold dark night. I started my car and put it in reverse. Smoothly and without trouble, it glided gracefully backwards. I whooped with joy! I knew I would be able to sleep easy. At least until my sore, aching muscles woke me in pain, a pain that has persisted all day despite obscene amounts of asprin.
I had to walk half a block to where my car was parked and then I had to find it, as all that was visible were large car-shaped lumps of snow. Finally I caught sight of it's doors peeking out through the snow but that was all I could see - nothing above or below the doors.
I spent the next hour shovelling behind the car and clearing a path on the driver's side. I felt like I was going to collapse so I got into the car and watched my heavy, asthmatic breath fog up the rear view mirror for a good ten minutes. It was at that point that I decided I was either going to give up shovelling or forge onward and face the prospect of cardiac arrest. I opted for giving up and dragged my soaking wet, broken self back to my apartment and into a hot shower. I then lay on my bed and promptly fell asleep for two hours.
Later that evening I decided, just for kicks, to see if I could manage to drive out of the snowbank I was now halfway lodged in. I threw on all requisite gear and headed back down the street into the cold dark night. I started my car and put it in reverse. Smoothly and without trouble, it glided gracefully backwards. I whooped with joy! I knew I would be able to sleep easy. At least until my sore, aching muscles woke me in pain, a pain that has persisted all day despite obscene amounts of asprin.
