We’ve had three storms in a week, for a total of 65cm in the past 8 days. (That’s 25.5″ for those of you of the Imperial Forces.)
Three days of being trapped inside an increasingly small house and I feel a little like a pinball inside a machine, ricocheting off the four walls and scoring an escape where ever possible.
The irony is that I actually have things to do inside. There are books unread staring at me and heaps of inspiring fibre with which to play and work. There are also sheep and turtles, but they are being remarkably well-behaved. Should I be suspicious?
There’s a markèd difference, however, between being trapped in a house and choosing to be inside.
Perhaps it’s the whole being forced to do something I don’t want to do. I’m certainly stubborn enough for that to be an issue.
Perhaps it’s sheer frustration at not being able to make plans to run that aren’t frustrated by the sudden descent of solidified water in the atmosphere. Flexibility is an ongoing battle with me, after all.
“Or maybe,” that little voice murmured provocatively, “Maybe you’re just sick and tired of cold and snow and dark and inside and wearing forty layers of clothing just to go to the store. Maybe it’s not actually you…..”
Yes, that’s it. Absolutely.
65cm of snow might do this to anyone…