Jean Valjean’s got nothing on me.
Perhaps you’ve already read my tale of woe regarding the Winter That Will Not End?
Well, it’s not ending.
Another “winter storm” – pantheonic name not yet conferred (perhaps it will be Zeus this time? Or Snow Farts From The Ass of Zeus?) is on its way. Already, the weather has turned to shit. Again. Two brief days of moderate weather – meaning, warm enough outside to let the damn fire go out inside and rely on the mostly useless “heat” pump, which mostly pumps cold air and sucks electricity doing it. Gone, just like that. Rewind to early Feb. Or mid-January. Or December. I can’t recall a time before the cold anymore.
It is, simply too got-damned much to bear.
There is no point to owning a garage full of motorcycles and an old muscle car. They have not moved in nearly half a year. What good are they to me – as other than a form of torture? Kind of like showing a cripple your YouTube movies of water-skiing. Or Hugh Heffner (current, late-stage Heff) the latest bunny spread.
What’s the point?
There are other reasons for my pain; the weather merely provides the coupe de grace.
I find myself mumbling to myself, like the becoming-aware “Final Five” cylons on Battlestar Galactica:
There must be some kind of way out of here… .