I Hate Winter
I am starting to hate winter and I mean really, really freaking HATE winter.
Although the winter here has been mild (with the exception of one incredible snow storm dropping 14 plus inches) today was another example why Dante chose his third circle of Hell to be a frozen wasteland where the condemned are pelted with hail.
It's Friday, the day when I get things setup for the weekend. The usual list includes the grocery shopping and light cleaning before my oldest son picks up his brother from mom's. Just after ten in the morning I head to the truck and already a freezing drizzle has started. Today has a extra stop as I want to go by the music shop and discuss new strings for the guitar and having some shoulder strap pegs installed.
There is only one way to drive in the slick stuff if you own a light truck with a manual transmission. You go easy on the gas and keep it in a lower gear using the engine to brake. This will give you good braking without breaking the rear loose. All this adds to the time spent getting around but eventually I make it home, unload and get ready to head to work.
Work, is well, work and tends to be dull. This day the gal who orders in Subway for lunch is out, so I cover for her. After processing through the orders and calling it in I head to the door and wait for the delivery. I'm waiting, waiting... The subway manager usually does the delivery as he gets off shift, but his next shift is late getting in too. After forty five minutes of waiting we get delivery from a store not a mile and a half away. Now it's close to five and I'm starting to worry about my oldest son who will be driving home in this freezing joy and then out into the countryside to pick up his brother. I call home at seven to learn that wisely, he decided it was to slick to drive, especially at night. On one hand I'm relived, on the other hand now I have to get up early to go pick up my youngest son. Eventually work ends and the herd stampedes out into the night. The sleet has now encased the cab of the truck. The plastic trash bag laid across the windshield has half blown off. The door handle itself is iced over so grabbing a stick from the bed I carefully apply a few wacks around the door handle to break the ice loose. Lifting the handle I hear the click of the latch's release. But ice has seeped into the cracks around the door and it's going to require a pull to open. As I pull the door handle snaps stabbing me deeply into the index finger of my left hand.
I knew instantly it was going to be ugly. For the last three weeks I've been taking the beginners steps of learning the guitar. You cannot grasp how tender your fingertips become until you try pressing them firmly against a thin steel string. If you want to get a sense of this find a brick wall and try tapping a hole through it with your fingertips for six hours. My fingertips were already hurting before this. The only thing keeping me from screaming is that by this time my hands are already half numb from the cold.
I'm bleeding, cold and my truck door handle is now broken. Figuring the night couldn't get any worse I walked around to the other door which of course opened easily. Great, add the feeling of stupidity to the mix. After letting the truck warm for a half hour I head to the gas station, for a full tank of gas $31.60 worth and head for home. Goodnight All, I'm going to bed.
