Fimbulvetr


Predator Press

[LOBO]

When I left this morning, it was negative eleven degrees.

Holy shit that's cold.

I remote started the car through the kitchen window, and came out minutes later to find it off. I thought, “that's weird” and started her back up.  All kinds of blinking lights and crazy warning messages came on -like I was driving the flying saucer from Close Encounters.

“ESC MAINTENENCE REQUIRED.”

What the hell does that mean?

-"I'm too sexy to be stolen from the Earth,” I thought. "People will notice! Important people!

 
***

Home safely now. Banging the snow from my boots causes blinding pain, as numerous blisters have fused my feet to my socks. But even then it's hard to be upset. For one, I kinda like winter. Even this nigh-impervious dump is vulnerable to the beauty of a fresh coating of snow. But perhaps more importantly, it's almost Christmas … the months of crazy overtime are finally abating, and the four day vacation ahead -the longest I've had since August by far- is right around the corner.

I am greeted by a pleasant rush of warmth, and set the mail, an ironic mix of bills and Christmas cards, on the end table as I engage in the process of removing my winter gear. Phil II waits impatiently, mewing her plaintiff welcomes.

Preoccupied with the Christmas cards, I ponder looking forward to the end of the holiday season for all the wrong reasons.

-For the first time in years I am confronted with the possibility of not celebrating Christmas, and not having a good excuse for it this time.



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