Rage Against the (Snow Removal) Machine

Sometimes I wonder if it will ever stop snowing.

This winter has been relentless – both emotionally and weather-wise.

I am still reeling from finding out on Wednesday that my job is being eliminated due to budget cuts. My boss and the director of human resources sat me down, they complimented me on my sweater, how it made me a ray of sunshine or some such, and then told me that sorry but this is how it goes sometimes and la la la la la it was hard to focus after that because as much as I’d love to go completely stoic, I’m just not built that way. My eyes flooded with tears and my brain was instantly slammed by what I was hearing.

I was handed a bottle of water. “Take a sip, it’ll help.” I couldn’t see then, and still can’t, for that matter – how on earth water was going to help me? What could it possibly do to fix anything? I awkwardly took the water after being urged once more, “Be sure you drink some of that.”

It’s been a crazy few days since. I’ve been hoping, actually, to have time to truly process it – to truly just stop and just BE and pout a little if I want to, cry a little if I want to, bury myself under the covers if I need to. One thing after another has conspired to keep me from having a proper mope – a false alarm with my sister at the hospital, the kids not having school Friday, and then a weekend of mom’ing.

And Saturday morning, I woke up to this.

In the midst of winter storm warnings, we had blizzard like weather – with not much new accumulation (I don’t think) but a lot of blowing and drifting snow. When I opened my garage on Saturday morning this is the sight I was met with – a drift that was at least a foot tall, probably closer to two (And oh, how I wish I’d measured it).

I scooped a pile of snow and the shovel was heavy with the weight of the wet snow. I turned around and went inside.

I can’t do this, I said.

I bitched about winter on Facebook a little.

“You need a snowblower,” some genius commented on my status.

Admittedly, my hackles were immediately raised.

—

Oh really? So, that’s how you get rid of snow? A snow blower? Is that what I need?

I don’t need a snow blower. I need a job.

Disposable income? What’s that?

OH. A SNOW BLOWER. I hear they’re giving those away with Happy Meals now.

As if you could understand.

—

I don’t want to be angry and I don’t want to be bitter, but I am a little angry and I am sort of bitter and frankly I found the comment to be so irritating that I bundled up in two pairs of pants, my grandpa’s flannel, boots, hat, scarf and gloves and I went back outside and I pushed through it until my whole damn driveway was nearly clear. And when my brother-in-law arrived as the local road crews were burying the end of my driveway in sludge, I graciously accepted his help and we finished the shoveling.

I don’t need a snow blower.

I am strong. And I’m capable.

I may hate the cold. I may hate the snow. I may hate shoveling. I may be recovering from being sick.

BUT I CAN DO THIS.

And I did it thinking of that smug woman and her “You need a snowblower” sitting in her home while her husband undoubtedly took care of her driveway and I finished it proud of myself.

(Still angry, though)

This morning, I cleared out the three new inches of fresh powdery snow in a -8° windchill. By the time I made it back inside, my body was numb. Despite my gloves, I couldn’t feel my hands. “I hurt, I hurt, I hurt, I hurt…” I kept repeating over and over until I was able to regain feeling in my fingers.

–

I hate winter.

This Polar Vortex garbage is lurking on the horizon again and we’re looking at another week with bone-chilling temperatures. I cannot take it anymore. Every winter makes me want to move to California again – this winter more than most.

I want to escape the cold. I want to escape the snow.

I want to escape the helplessness I feel – helpless because I’m losing my job, helpless because finding a new one is proving to be dang near impossible, helpless because I can’t run away from it all. I’m here. And I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other.

“You need a snowblower,” was just one more thing.

As though problems are so easily solved. As though one can know what any one else is enduring. As though the answer is to always take the easy way, the way that is the least work, the one that allows you to push through without the back-breaking, muscle-aching, sweat-dripping, snow-slinging WORK.

I’d love to take the easy way.

Who wouldn’t?

But since I can’t, I’ve got my shovel out. May take me awhile to get it all cleared out…but I’m told that I will and I’ll just have to believe it.