The past 48 hours really have been....something? They've been something. Yesterday, Monday, I awoke at 2am and immediately sensed something was off. Was the house on fire? An intruder? A gas leak? A demon hellbent on stealing my soul while I slept? No. No my friends, It was far, far worse.

IT.

WAS.

SNOWING.

AGAIN!!!!

And not just flurries, there was a solid 2+ inches of wet fucking snow out there. Look, we talking in February? Sure, dawg. March? Yep, it's still Winter, baby. Early April even? I'll give it a pass. But it was less than a day from being MAY!! We finally had a streak of weather in the 40s that made everyone think we had turned the corner. The weather wasn't supposed to get past freezing again and I know this because I check the forecast multiple times a day like a freak. I blame this on growing up in Tornado Alley and needing to be aware, because I was a very, very anxious child. Shocking right? I'm serious though, you really could feel an unspoken hope amongst all of us here, that these rain showers and more moderate temperatures would help usher in the flowers and leaves and green and eventual lightning bugs and apples and wholesome loveliness that is Vermont. I mean, I had just planted some goddamn pansies!!! And then, ya know, I already have sleep issues, and I look out my window and theres this fucking snow, SNOW!!! Just falling and glowing in the night, mocking us and waiting for everyone to awake and scream at the sky. It was such an incredible bummer.

And look, knew it would be warm enough to make the snow melt later in the day. This wasn't the kind of storm to linger - we'd be back to the thaw almost immediately. And I knew I could make it down my hill in the slippery slush because I had a weird feeling that I shouldn't switch to my Summer Tires just yet (and maybe, just maybe that wasn't a feeling as much as it was me being too lazy to drag those tires up from the basement solo - but whatever). But none of that mattered. I felt pranked. I knew this was just a surface level fuck you, but it didn't matter. Seeing that beautiful downy snow clinging to the, still bare, trees just put me in a m o o d.

And so my grumpy ass drove to work at the crack of dawn, grumbling and groaning all the way. I was managing an event later in the day and I just couldn't seem to get in a groove. All the dumpster Dunken Donuts coffee, which normally warms my heart and charges though my veins like liquid gold, didn't do shit. I was tired and cranky and everything was sludgy and gross outside! And I wanted to cry. So, I decided it was probably time to pop home to let the dogs out and regroup before I had to get back to prep for the event. Already in a terrible mood from the snow, I trudged back home and find that Linus, my littlest dog, had somehow scaled a table in order to access the trash can I hid from them, and got into a fucking whole rotisserie chicken. And he ate it all - not just the chicken. Nope. He ate the skeleton too - which was roughly the same size as him. Not good. Mildly terrifying. Very gross.

Originally, I thought both dogs had partaken in this horrible nightmare, but after seeing Linus' engorged stomach and the subsequent x-rays, its pretty obvious he ate the entire fucking thing. Which is, like, really bad. Not good. Dangerous. His stomach basically looks like an abandoned Voodoo ritual site. Just tons of chicken bones and bad omens. Thankfully, he made it through the night. It was touch and go for a while and I was very scared and very sad. I slept sporadically on the couch with him on my chest because he didn't feel good enough to move. And I couldn't even bring myself to think about what could happen. So I did what I used to do as a kid when I was sick - I made him watch Pollyanna with me. As one does. And I cried and cuddled and tried to use every good vibe in the world to make him feel better. And I think it worked.

So this morning, after we made it though the night, and his energy perked up, and I wasn't crying nonstop begging God to let the chicken bones pass. And he started acting more of himself (an asshole), I should've been in a better mood. I should've been walking on sunshine! Tap dancing on a goddamn could while the Vet told me to just keep an eye on him AND that I could actually give him food tonight. That should've been the switch that flipped me back into a better mood. Hell, it's going to be 78 degrees tomorrow. SEVENTY FUCKING EIGHT DEGREES. Thats a normal person temperature. Thats the temp for places that have Bank of Americas and Targets and human interaction. Add to that, the dog is probably going to make it!!! And less importantly, my pansies survived the snow! Everything is turning around...but I'm still. Fucking. Grumpy. Not just grumpy, but anxious, too. Today, a day that should've been a good day - a feeling of relief - instead it feels like the morning after you got drunk at an office party. You call your friends and they assure you that you did nothing to be embarrassed about. That no one is talking about your behavior But you still feel vaguely...suspicious. Off. Anxious. Like if you let your guard down, someone is going to tell you something awful that you did and your whole world will collapse. Thats what this Winter has made me feel constantly...which in turn, makes me feel a connection to the Puritan and Pilgrims and the other grumps of New England.

I have to say, I've always found the level of grumpiness and glum that surrounded the Puritan's daily life to be delicious. It takes a lot to travel across the scary ocean, in a rickety ass boat, losing friends and family along the way, only to land in the New World and fill it to the brim with crankiness and Native American genocide. That takes a special kind of innate, horribly grouchy dedication to commit to disliking everything about the place you chose as a safe haven and new land. And I applaud that, truly. Maybe its because I come from Texans who had to live during the dust bowl. They lived in a miserable place, in miserable heat, and even once things took a turn, and fortunes changed, and life became Donna Reed's wet dream, they continued being fucking miserable. I'm specifically talking about my great-grandmother. A woman who could find the negative in any and everything. A woman who would remind you, an anxious child, that you could drown in an inch of water. That airplanes were prone to crash. Cancer will sneak up on you and kill you and everyone you love. That the Devil is going to snatch your soul and take you to the deepest darkest depths of Hell. So, maybe, its because I've got pure grouch flowing through my veins as well, that I can appreciate the Negative Nellie, overall bummer summer vibe ,that those uptight Puritans emitted. What I never understood though, was WHY they were so grouchy.

See, I get why my family was grouchy. Have you been to Texas in the Summer? Cool. Now imagine that like, 20% more humid, and sans any sort of air conditioning. Then add in a fuck ton of dust and chiggers and ticks and snakes and horseflies biting your head and picking cotton until your fingers bleed. And now imagine tornadoes and hail storms and flash floods. Those conditions are miserable and make you a miserable human being who will be ornery and mean until the day they die. It's just nature. The Puritans though, I mean, it *seems* like they should've been dancing (or very stoically standing) in the streets in celebration! They fled persecution! They made it across the Atlantic without dying! New England had a lot of game and fish and places to settle! Sure their clothing seemed itchy and a bit drab and they weren't too keen on women or sexuality, but I mean...wasn't this their promised land? It's not like they sailed to the New World and settled in fucking Oklahoma, ya know? I mean...New England is gorgeous. And has natural resources aplenty. And the Summers aren't too hot and the Falls are incredible and the Winters are....

AH FUCK.

I think I just figured out my thesis statement on why every book/play/film set in New England is a fucking bummer. THE WINTER TURNED THEM ALL INTO FUCKING ASSHOLE GRUMPS. I can't prove this, but I feel in the deepest, more intense parts of my soul, that had these Pilgrims and Puritans encountered a Winter that lasted from December - March, they would've been fucking chipper little weirdos. They would've been the town from "Footloose" AFTER Kevin Bacon danced into their heart and souls and taught them to love life again. Instead, they had Winters from November until May and that made them GRUMPY! MISERABLE. WANTING TO INFLICT THEIR PAIN ON OTHERS. Honestly, they probably hated and wanted to punish Witches because they though the Witches had a hand in the weather!! So I guess what I'm saying is, I get it, man. I have also turned into a cranky, withered crone - a crone that has to sit and monitor her dog as he attempts to pass a catacomb-sized logjam of chicken bones in his guts. A crone that is having a hard time finding the joy in anything other than the green of the Earth and the coming Spring. A crone that hated boxing outdoors because she was convinced the tree holding the TRX band would break and shatter all around her...because thats what cranky motherfuckers do...worry/complain/frown.

Tomorrow is going to be 78 degrees - a temperature that I never appreciated when I lived in Texas or LA or Atlanta or even in NYC. And yet here I am, so excited about the chance to potentially sweat and get the 6,000th sunburn in my cursed and wretched life. And Spring truly has arrived, even if we've gotten some snow. And the leaves haven't budded yet. And the flowers haven't bloomed. But much like the morning after a rough night, the world isn't going to suddenly go sideways. Things happen as they happen and even if there's a hiccup in the weather, the sun will rise and set and the leaves will come and then change and eventually fall, because such is the circle of life. And one can either embrace that and be zen and appreciate it all, OR...or, one can embrace the lineage of our forefathers. Those brave, cranky men and women, who lived here begrudgingly, and fought tooth and nail to make sure that generations to come remembered how miserable they were day in and day out. I choose them. I chose the cranks. And the grumps. And those who will worry about when the other shoe will drop. But I'll also plant flowers and lettuce and snuggle my dog and thank the heavens he's ok - because I'm a well rounded lady to enjoys being able to both appreciate life's blessings AND simultaneously live as an incredibly cantankerous Swamp Goblin.