storms revisited

Another storm. Worse than the last, but without all the hype. Lucky for me it was President's Day, and I didn't have to go in anyway. I'd have never made it. The snow came on schedule, and it was something else. I spent the day doing three separate rounds of shoveling so I can get out tomorrow.

Somewhere it doesn't have to be like this. I cannot wait to leave Michigan. Who in their right mind wants to live here? The economy's a mess and as an added bonus the weather stinks. I want to leave. I want to spend the rest of my life enjoying it. Not waking up angry because of where I live. Just a couple more winters. Just a couple more. I have to keep telling myself...

I only hope I don't die before I can get out of here. I don't want to be the weather version of George Bailey in "It's A Wonderful Life" never getting to realize his dreams. I want to be able to look at my driver's license and not see Michigan anywhere on it. That's all I want. I just want to finish up here and go.

Somebody else can shut off the lights when everybody finally wises up and leaves this horrid piece of tundra....

The last one standing

Okay, I admit, it's stupid. But in my mind I tried to predict who would be the last surviving member of my graduating class. High school, that is. And I always came up with one name. Barb Meadows. That was my pick. That beautiful and quiet girl from my class. But in searching for her for last summer's 40th reunion, it was revealed she has passed due to complications from diabetes. That truly sucks. She was one of the sweetest things about the class of "because the world is round it turns us on" 1970. Barb, you left us too soon.

storms

It's the night of the "Storm of the Century" although we're only 10 years into the century. The staff in the prison where I work could all go back to work tonight if we so choose, and stay for 16 plus hours...more like 20 for me. Oh well, I'm not going. I may try and make it in in the morning, but getting home tomorrow night is the part that bothers me. When to retire bothers me too.

When is the right time? "To quote the Clash: Should I go or should I rock the Casbah?" I heard that somewhere. And as time drags on it becomes apparent that I am slowly not belonging there as much as usual.

And so a storm is brewing. Let it rage I say, let it rage. I want to pack my stuff and my girl and go to where it never snows. Soon, I must tell myself. Soon. But til then.... I must rock the Casbah.