Three Times Plowed

My driveway is short and wide. Because we can only shovel to one side, it takes a deceptively long time to take care of.

I've been outside, trying to get it ready before Jess comes and we have to puzzle-piece our cars together to make them fit. While shoveling, a plow drove by and left a thick, heady clump of thick snow at the end. I shoveled that out. Fifteen minutes later, the guy comes back and does the same thing. I shovel it out again, and a curse escapes my lips.

Fifteen minutes later, same thing. I pull the shovel back and think about throwing it at him. It's hardly snowing. The street looks no different. Is he racking up hours? Is he taunting the poor shoveller?

*

Truth is, I feel better out shoveling than wallowing in my own thoughts.

I couldn't write and didn't have the mind for reading. Even from the great Portis.

A little music and optimism and back. That's what I'm working on now. That, and the promise of a warm shower. A small trace of fecal matter, unwiped but just barely, has started to trouble and itch me. I noticed it nearly an hour into the shoveling. By now, that small smear has me thinking in terms of chili oil. But no. I continue working. I shovel. I have my ipod on. I want to grow my beard longass. I want to finish up and still find quiet in the house and bake chicken for the the fam and cuddle up as though there were a fire burning.

*

I bought two shovels. One big, one small for whoever else. The big one is mine. It's light and broad and serves me well. I'm going to return to that shovel, and to the outside, and let the chicken slowcook so it will be ready for dinner.