A Girl Can Dream

Once again I have placed all my self-worth on the wrong things and come up short. Snow. Well, actually, this time–ice.
I have tracked this system for DAYS. For nearly a week, in fact.
And it was all a go–until this afternoon. Yes, the school-closing, couch/tv promising ice we were supposed to get Tuesday has been scaled back at the last minute to “a little bit of insignificant sleet.” It will only slicken up the bridges and overpasses, if anything. Do you know how this makes me feel? Can you even begin to understand my hurt? I bought a gallon of milk, three boxes of cereal, and two magazines for this event! And then Old Man Weather just KICKS me when I’m down.

It’s all so unfair. It’s a good thing I have Ben and Jerry’s and Chips Ahoy to keep me company in these dark hours.

And then somebody commented on my blog today (in archives) about how dare I say henna stunk. I had no right to do that. Number one, I’m in a deep depression, and I can say anything I want. Number two, apparently using henna on the hair sucks out your sense of humor. And number three, I stuck cotton balls up my schnoz, for crying out loud. For a solid hour. And that was AFTER I went through 15 minutes of dry heaves before I got smart and started plugging up my nose. I think I EARNED the right to say it’s a bit stinky. And yes, the right thing to do would’ve been to let that go and delete the comment, but I’m mad about the ice AND. . . it struck me as really funny. I get in an uproar about important things too–animal abuse, the atrocity of Darfur, child trafficking. But I can’t remember the last time I hijacked a blog over a plant. But with the way I feel today with the weather and all, it could be just a matter of time. I kind of understand lashing out at someone over something crazy. So Person Who Posted Yhat Comment, I know your anger over henna (and my disrespect of the reeking plant) was really just you acting out of a deeper, larger hurt that you’re not truly ready to share.

Maybe I should call 9-1-1 and tell them I have an emergency.They’re trained to respond to any problem.
“What is your emergency?” they’ll ask.
And I’ll say, “I need snow. And ice. Now.” I can’t think of anything more pressing and urgent than that. Emergencies are sometimes in the eye of the beholder. Take it from this guy, who called them himself. (thanks for reminding me, Christy!)

Have a good week. If a miracle transpires (and of course, I have a bet riding on it), and we get out, you’ll hear me shouting from the roof tops.
Okay, you won’t. But maybe from my couch.
Under a blanket. With hot chocolate. And my new magazine.
And my stinky hair.