My brain is a little numb. I’ve been working very hard for a very long time, and there really isn’t a break in sight. Well… there kinda is, but not one that I’m getting any close to (in a matter of a month I can take a pseudo-break but I can’t call it a “real” break since the semester will have just started and, thusly, I’ll be teaching at that point). For now, I’m buried in books and, no matter how much reading I do, the book fort never seems to get any smaller (probably due to the fact that I keep piling library books on top of it even as I read them out from the bottom of the stacks).
To make matters worse, over the weekend we got our first major snowstorm here in the
Northeast. This at least gave me the ability to successfully test my hypothesis that I would rather do any other task in my household than shovel. As I suited up to deal with the icy toboggan-trail that had become my driveway, I couldn’t help but wryly remark to myself that snow days really ain’t what they used to be.
The funny thing about snow in Boston is you’d think that, since it’s a city inhabited by New Englanders, nobody would have a problem with it. They’d go about their business without much to-do and continue on their merry ways amidst the downfall. But no. Somehow, inevitably, the first snow of the year transforms the city into a conglomerate of royal jerks who have all miraculously forgotten how to drive. Additionally, even though the roads are still slippy/slidey, Bostonians think that snow on the sidewalk makes it acceptable to walk in the road rather than tromp on their nice, safe, designated walkway. I can’t even begin to tell you how many pedestrians I almost ran down on my way home from rehearsal last night.
As an added bonus, since my driveway is uphill both ways and the nice fluffy pillows of wonder that fell from the sky this weekend froze over with about an inch of caked-on skating-rink quality ice, my back seems to have called up its union and gone on strike in protest of hard manual labor.
And we’re expecting more snow tomorrow.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my cave. Grumbling.