My little corner of the world received 5 more inches of snow this past Sunday night. Isn’t it pretty? Let me stop you right there—no, it is not. It is bullshit is what it is. Yes, I just used a variation on the S-H word and I don’t give a S-H that I did. I don’t normally just throw swears around hither and yon (that’s not entirely true), but all this snow would try the patience of a saint. I have very little in common with most saints. At this point in this very long winter, every time it snows, my predominant emotion is anger. Like during labor when, although outwardly calm, I was inwardly incensed that anyone should have to experience such bullS-H. This is RIDICULOUS. NO ONE should HAVE to DO this! That was what it was like inside my head. It was not a good, safe or happy place to be at the time. Much like labor, when it comes to all this snow, I am helpless to filter my thoughts.
If when asked Isn’t this snow pretty? you cocked your head, made a cooing sound like one might when looking at an adorable infant, it means you are clearly not a New Englander. No one here thinks it’s pretty anymore. We think it’s bullshit. But that’s okay if you do think it’s pretty. Welcome! I’m glad you’re here and I really like you in spite of it and in the spirit of generosity, I am happy for you that you're obviously someplace that is snow-free. (That’s not actually true. I hate everyone who is someplace snow-free.) (See what I mean about the filter?)
February was a bullS-H month for weather. 95-ish inches of snow has fallen here since the end of January. We had like 2 blizzards in the space of 3 weeks and a bunch of smaller snow events, which is a bullS-H phrase the weather people like to use. Don’t try to dress it up with pretty phraseology—it’s just more bullS-H snow. There is no longer anywhere left to pile new snow. As I write this, snow is actually falling. About 6 or 8 more inches today, and as much as 12 before the storm heads out to sea. I’m trying really hard not to be grumpy about this snow. (You may have surmised that that’s a lie—I’m not really trying anymore.)
I have also been on deadline for Talking Underwater which was due to the publisher on March 1. Between the snow and the edits, it’s been a crazy month. Shoveling, writing, shoveling, writing. I have mentioned that Talking Underwater has been in some form of progress for 100 years (like, 12 in non-exaggeration) and making the changes has been very hard work. Keeping perspective has been very hard work. I wanted to dump it like 100 (that is accurate) times. I told myself I was never going to write another stinking bullS-H novel ever again. But I am happy and relieved to say, I made the deadline. It was like giving birth after a 12 year long bullS-H labor.
When I was in labor, I told myself repeatedly I WILL NEVER DO THIS AGAIN (and there were a few choice expletives in there that I omitted for my more sensitive readers). Then the moment I saw my children I thought. I would TOTALLY do this again!
Writing novels is much like that. So even though Talking Underwater has been like a super-long labor—you know, all my fellow laborers, those last 2 centimeters of dilation commonly known as "transition" that would be more aptly named "absolute bullS-H"—I would totally do it again. I’ve started writing something new and editing a manuscript I wrote a couple of years ago. I am also continuing to take care of my kids. Although, I honestly will never do labor again. That really was some serious bullS-H. What does all this have to do with snow? Nothing except 95-ish inches of snow in 5 weeks is total, 100% bullS-H. I’m too snowed-in to make sense of everything, people. Here, look at this instead of pondering my questionable logic. It’s a photo of the snow today. Isn’t it such bullS-H? Exactly.
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