Every now and again I find it really difficult to sleep through the night. Tuesday happened to be one of those nights. Wide awake in bed at 3AM, I decided to roll out into standing position, walk over to my east-facing window and open the shade to catch a moment of the storm. 0 to 100, I wrapped my quilted housecoat around my pajamas, layered on hat, leather work gloves and my rain boots, and headed outside to shovel.
It was quite bright outside for 3AM. I swear there is an allusion of the moon seeming larger here and the reflection of the light on the white snow had more effect than tens of those dippy nite-lites parents pollute their hallways and bathrooms with.
I thought my work would be a huge help and surprise to my dad the following morning. He leaves the house around 6:30AM for work. But it turned out he didn't even notice. Oh the pangs of disappointment. Apparently, unless absolutely necessary, don't bother clearing the snow until the storm has stopped. Winds can shift directions and all of your neatly piled work can blow back upon you. This is also a very real observation to note when snow-blowing. It's not that much fun when you can only yell at yourself.
The combined couple of hours of shoveling [I went back out Wednesday afternoon to clear the pile of snow left at the bottom of the driveway skirt, courtesy of the city] was an excellent workout for the two small muscles encasing the 'chicken bone' perimeter of my spine. I didn't know these muscles existed before yesterday. I can't wait to see how sexy my back will look in a tank top after three months of element pumping.
Also in some pain, is the 'ole left hamstring. I haven't had any pain in this region since I pathetically tried to join my previous college's track team, without any previous running experience*. I can only assume my quick-hurry-shuffle-because-it-is-so-freaking-cold-out is to blame, and my lack of wanting to drink water, or any beverage of, or cooler than, room temperature [except this delicious Leinenkugel's Fireside Nut Brown, which I am holding in a mittened hand].
I am working through the discomfort by working more and by wearing the Man's Mall favorite: flannel hat. The hat is not a favorite of my sister, nor my mom or really anyone female. They liken me to an Elmer Fudd type character. I dig it though and I don't plan to quit designing my burly outer costuming just yet. 'Man's Mall, I shall return. Army Surplus, we rendezvous next week.' Documentation forthcoming.
*For your enjoyment, a historical review of my early writing career as a columnist for The Royal Purple, the student newspaper at the previously mentioned college. And of course I took the position without any previous writing experience [save a few C-graded papers from my high school's junior year lit class; probably on the topic of Steinbeck, with the stylistic charm of poor penmanship and strong critical analysis built upon 'I don't understand what I'm supposed to be writing about.'] As you will come to notice, I always jump head first.