This Winter has been much milder than its predecessor, so I haven’t needed to take my meds, worry (obsess) about frozen pipes, or climb up on the roof to prevent leaks from melting snow.
With Dr. Jekyll’s help, I’ve taken a new approach to tackling my Winter related phobias, and as a a result, my stress levels have remained in the green.
Since I’ve been more more levelheaded this Winter, I’ve had time to calmly form Deep Thoughts on what a mild Winter might mean. How does Maine go from barely surviving the New Ice Age one year, to having several 50 degree days in mid-Winter the next?
Al Gore will tell you it’s because of Global Warming.
Your buddy in the toga, though, would point you in a totally different direction, Modern Philosophers. I’d tell you that a calmer Winter meant that Snow Miser has finally decided to bury the hatchet and give up on his vendetta against me.
As you know, Snow Miser has never forgiven me for stealing his girlfriend back during our glory days at NYU.
Rather than work out his anger by taking a swing at me or by manning up and stealing one of my girlfriends over the years, Snow Miser has simply pummeled me with horrible Winters to punish me for my crimes against the Bro Code.
I know what I did back at NYU was a douche move, but it was over twenty years ago.
It’s time for Snow Miser to let it go.
And I thought he had. Silly me saw the milder Winter as a thawing of the animosity with Snow Miser.
Boy was I wrong.
The cowardly Ice Imp tried to kill me three times last night, Modern Philosophers.
First, there was the fall in the parking lot. I was walking to my car after work, I slipped in the poorly cleared lot, and landed hard on my shoulder.
I’m extremely sore today, with my shoulder and lower back aching, but nothing seems to be broken. However, I did tweet about one noticeable issue earlier…
I guess I’ll never play lead guitar for Fire & Ice, the heavy metal band led by Snow Miser and Heat Miser on vocals.
Then there was the drive home on a highway that wasn’t plowed. I’ve faced my worst phobia by driving to and from work every time it’s snowed this year. I thought I was really getting over my fear until my Commute From The Ice Age.
How I didn’t snap the steering wheel from clutching it so tightly is beyond me. Perhaps it was a result of all the prayers I was saying aloud in the car. Maybe I’m actually showing a little faith in my driving ability, even though the butterflies in my stomach were shrieking for me to release them so they could fly away and save themselves.
It was definitely the most frightened I’ve been on a snow drive in some time.
My steep, intimidating driveway had not been plowed, and despite there being no Sherpas around to lead the way, I still attempted the harrowing ascent.
It was a foolish thing to do, but I was in pain from my fall and my toga was soaked through with sweat from the stressful highway journey.
I didn’t want to leave my car parked in the street and risk it being in the way of a speeding City Snow Plow, while I shoveled the driveway.
So I gunned it.
I transferred all the anger and rage I had built up towards Snow Miser to the gas pedal.
My car shot up the driveway, and I quickly had to do some very skillful maneuvering to keep it from knocking over my mailbox, driving onto my front lawn, and crashing into my neighbors’ porch.
The vehicle wound up stuck in the snow about three-quarters of the way up the driveway. It was somewhat sideways. The wheels were turned awkwardly in the opposite direction.
I got out, limped to the trunk, pulled out my shovel, and fought through the back, neck, and shoulder pain to clear a path to the garage.
Three attempts on my life by Snow Miser in a span of about twenty minutes.
Dr. Jekyll told me that the only way to keep my Post Traumatic Snow Disorder in check was to go home, stay the hell out of the snow where Snow Miser has me at a disadvantage, and use my words to unleash all the evil feelings welling up inside me.
So @#$% you, Snow Miser!
@#$% you and the Woolly Mammoth you rode in on, you obnoxious prick.
You had three chances to take me out, and you failed. What doesn’t kill me only makes me write stronger worded blog posts about how much I hate you.
And you know what else? That girlfriend I stole from you told me that your…umm…icicle was so tiny that it made her understand why you unleash enormous blizzards on the world to feel somewhat manly.
I’m done with this little war, Snow Miser.
Hate Snow Miser, too? Follow me on Pinterest and we can mock him together on there!