We just got hit with another foot of snow today. I had to cancel "work" so I can shovel tomorrow.
I always thought that living in Minnesota in wintertime is saintly because, as my high school counselor always liked to say, "it builds character." I think the state is great to live in -- a political swerve to the right aside -- because it keeps the cowardly out. But after this record-setting winter, even I feel like a pussy who pines for the days he lived in Los Angeles. Seriously, fuck this winter.
Plus, I now have a dilemma, sort of. I plan on getting up real early in the morning -- like, in a few hours -- to help shovel out my parents' minivan. I really do want to help, and yet I question my motives. Does this have anything to do with the lecture My Father gave me last (Saturday) night? Am I doing this only because I think that if I don't wake up tomorrow morning and help, he'll be mad at me?
Complicating all of this is my enmity towards our snowblower. I can't get the goddamn thing to work, and I would rather just shovel. And yet it is times like a blizzard dropping a foot of snow that is geared towards using a snowblower. But I hate relying on that goddamn infernal contraption. If I try it and it doesn't work, I'll be frustrated that I would just go back inside. I mean it.
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