So, for those of you who aren’t in Louisville, which is all of you, there’s been what meteorologists are calling “a metric fuckton” of snow today. It started on my drive home and continues, albeit less forcefully, at this very moment. The projected total is somewhere between 4-8 inches of snow, plus sleet, ice, freezing rain, and all the stuff that makes driving fun. If it doesn’t keep snowing, and it is still snowing even now, but not severely, I’ll be ice skating into work.
I don’t want to.
I wish I was in elementary school again so I could just enjoy the snow and not have to go to work. Snow isn’t supposed to mean leaving the house early and praying you don’t die on some godforsaken interstate because you’ve already been hit by a semi once when driving in the dark while it was snowing. Snow’s supposed to mean putting on my big heavy boots and gloves and going outside to throw snowballs, or make a snowman, or scoop up the top layer of the fluffy white stuff and make snow crème.
This is the best kind of snow, fluffy and wet. It sticks together in perfect snowball clumps that burst in a shower of white powder when they hit something. Everything looks so clean and beautiful outside, with the layer of whiteness reflecting the moonlight and brightening the evening skies to gray instead of pitch.
I shouldn’t have to dread this. It’s a thrilling experience; my inner child is screaming at me, “Call into work! Go outside and roll around on the lawn like a dog! Doitdoitdoit!” I guess there’s a reason I’ve been listening to that band of eternal teenagers, The Ramones, all day long.
I don’t wanna grow up.