My nerves aren’t great in the best of times. And, believe me, these aren’t the best of times. We’re reaching that point in the winter when I start to get an overwhelming urge to bitch-slap people who annoy me. Scary, but true.
It’s not as if we’re having snow all the time, but more that the damned weather people are always threatening snow, which is almost worse. I’ll make plans for the next day and then hear the weather guy saying there’s a chance of a “snow burst” or freezing sleet tomorrow. It’s just enough to make me feel tense.
But I think the worse part of it is the constant below-freezing temperatures . That’s what’s really starting to get to me. It’s like being trapped in a deep freeze. I miss spending time outside. I miss the birds and their singing. I miss studying the critters, four-legged and insectoid around my house. I miss my beloved big white puffy clouds, in which I so delight in finding shapes. And my balcony! My lovely ten foot by twenty-foot balcony where I spend so much time in spring, summer and fall! I miss my balcony! I can’t even sneak out there for a minute, due to huge dollops of snow and ice which cover the floor.
No, when I’m home, I’m a prisoner in my own house! And when I go out, I’m slapped in the face by frigid winds or nearly killed by slippery roads. Even though my sidewalks are cleared, I have to put on boots to get the morning paper every single morning. Why? Because my paper man throws like a girl! No, I take that back. I’m a girl and I could throw a hell of a lot harder than he does. One hard throw downhill from the street would send the paper right to my front door. As it is, he lands it right in the middle of the yard, where the snow comes practically to my knees! And thus, my Winter Bitch emerges…
I can’t really help it, you know. Could the Incredible Hulk help it? Can a werewolf help it? Of course not! Circumstances beyond my control push me to the point where my tongue becomes sharper than a Ginsu knife. I walk into a restaurant for lunch with a friend and when the hostess looks at just the two of us standing there and asks, “Two?” I frown, look puzzled, turn to my friend and ask, “You’re not pregnant, are you?” and then turn back and say, “Yes, just TWO.”
And when a telemarketer calls and asks, “Is this a good time?” I’ll usually respond, “we’re in the middle of a funeral here, but what do you need?”
This time of year makes me surly. I have no tolerance for stupidity. Stir in double vision and a mouth still sore from oral surgery and LOOK OUT! It’s times like these when I really wish I had one of those professional punching bags because I’d be giving that baby a work out! (And no, Charles, I don’t want to go to a gym. Too many innocent lives would be at stake!) The Winter Bitch isn’t all that fond of people…especially stinky sweaty ones in work-out clothes.
No, I’ll try to keep her contained, as best I can until spring. But between now and then, I desperately hope that no one crosses me because I can’t be held responsible for the results. As it is, I’m thinking of making a big pile of snowballs tomorrow morning and just waiting there on my front porch. When the paper man drives up, I’ll be standing there with my hands full, yelling, (in my very best Dirty Harry voice,) “Go ahead and throw it, punk! MAKE MY DAY!”