It's hard to believe that at this time last year, my car spent 10 days trapped under an igloo of ice and snow.

Jason and I finally had to go at it with pick axes, though we still couldn't go anywhere anyway. Humps of snow as big as Russian submarines lined the end of the driveway, and the ice-crusted ruts in the street were only manageable by Hummers.

I spent entire months in Ohio being cold. I woke up cold, I took cold showers, I went to bed cold. I had cold feet, a cold nose, cold hair. My car was cold, my clothes were cold, my cubicle was cold. At home, I sat by the radiator in layers of sweaters and covered by down-filled blankets, and I was still cold. And there's nothing I hate more than being cold.

Now, every time I get chilly when the sun sets on 65-degree nights and I pull a sweater over my shoulders, I try to remember the time I had to take a pick axe to my own car to extract it from an ice cube.

Yeah, I try to remember that time. But I really don't want to.

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 29, 2005 at 3:35 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.