January has afforded me the opportunity to use the snow blower I bought from a former neighbor who was looking to downsize. It's a good one, big, but not too big, powerful enough, easy to maneuver. But there is one fact about using the snow blower that I just can't stand.
No matter which way I aim the "directional discharge chute", the g@dd@mn snow blows right back in my face. It's like I'm being filmed for an episode of "America's Most Annoyed!" a show that surreptitiously films people failing at doing menial tasks.
I hear the neighbors, sitting in their large woolen sweaters, cupping a warm cup of something, looking out the window, snickering. Cackling. Guffawing at the expense of my displeasure. At least I imagine they are doing that, because that tableau jibes with my strongly held view that the universe exists because of, and surrounds only me.
If that were the case, of course the snow would cooperate. Actually, we would have to go much more deeply than that. There would be no snow. Yes, if I could fashion the universe, there would be no cataclysm, there would be no discomfort. There would be no television shows that starred Peter Scolari.
So in spite of my grandiose delusions, I am just a shlub getting "whitewashed" every time I run the snow thrower.
But isn't that life? In alternate universes, a less prosperous me has a backache from hefting snow, because a machine to do the work is an unobtainable decadence. In still another, the machine picks up a piece of decaying blacktop from the driveway and jets it with spectacular force through the next door neighbor's window. I imagine it's possible there is a universe where my cosmic doppelganger is a reedy go-getter who shovels because he, (gulp), WANTS TO!
All this being said and I am still me, living in my reality. Right now my reality is putting the snow clothes back on for the second, (and likely not last), time today and go blow this motherloving snow off my driveway and into my face!
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