Frank Sinatra’s soothing voice is softly playing, but I do not feel soothed in the least.
I keep peeking through my blinds, waiting for the first flurry to fall. It is inevitable and I must accept that, but I am not ready yet.
I am not ready for the bitter cold that comes with it. The kind of cold that bites. It seeps into your body and freezes you to the core. And to make matters worse, its the kind of cold that hurts when you warm up as well. As your blood starts to thaw ever so slowly, your hands tingle and your face stings.
I am not ready for the ice that I am doomed to slip on. I can barely walk without tripping on air. Ice is dangerous. Not only does it hurt my butt when I fall down, but my pride takes a spill as well. Last year as I was walking back from class, I hit the ice, my legs went out from under me, and I was looking up at the clock tower before I knew what had happened. I laid there for a brief moment when a very polite male looked down at me and offered me his hand. I wanted to slap his hand away and tell him I could do it myself, but I knew that as soon as I tried to stand up on my own that I would be right back down on the ground. So with a red face I reached up and took his hand, quickly mumbled thank you and quickly headed towards the door of the building.
I’m also not ready for the shit show that is the roads in this town after it snows. I do not know who taught these people how to remove snow, but they are doing it wrong. I have never in my life seen so many people get stuck in town. There is no reason for it. My blood boils thinking about it.
I guess I should feel fortunate that it is already November and we haven’t had snow yet, but knowing it is coming is almost worse than having it here. You would think that after living in Nebraska for the entirety of my existence that I would be used to the snow, but there is just some things people shouldn’t have to get used to.