Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Snowmageddon part 47 & Queen

Well, boy and girl, it’s time to panic and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.  We’re all gonna die.

Monday, November 25, 2013:  Today A chance of snow and sleet before 10am, then a chance of rain and sleet between 10am and 1pm, then rain likely after 1pm. Cloudy, with a high near 40. Southeast wind around 5 mph. Chance of precipitation is 70%. Little or no snow accumulation expected.
Tonight Rain likely before 7pm, then rain and snow likely between 7pm and 1am, then a chance of rain and sleet after 1am. Cloudy, with a low around 32. East wind around 5 mph becoming north after midnight. Chance of precipitation is 70%. Little or no snow accumulation expected.
Tuesday A chance of rain and sleet before 7am, then a chance of snow and sleet between 7am and 10am, then a chance of rain after 10am. Cloudy, with a high near 44. North wind 10 to 15 mph. Chance of precipitation is 40%. New precipitation amounts of less than a tenth of an inch possible.

So:  you need to quit reading this stupid blog right now and go kiss your loved ones and hold them tight before Snowmageddon savagely rips you asunder.

I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever used “asunder” in a sentence.  I’m kinda proud.

To any innocents out there that accidentally trip across my blog, I apologize for wasting your time and if you don’t live in Tennessee Snowmageddon may not affect you but I will still keep you in my prayers just in case and will offer this word of explanation.  At the hint of the possibility of the word of SNOW and/or SLEET Tennesseans immediately grab their car keys and rush to the grocery to stock up on wood (yes, at the grocery), bread and milk just in case they get snowed in for weeks and weeks under the 1/4″ spotty dusting of snow.

Meanwhile I’m sitting here safely ensconced in ShuBootAh, which I have not thrown across the room in 6 days and about, oh, 20 hours, so now I can be proud of both that and “asunder”.  Which I would really like to do to ShuBootAh.  But I won’t.  Not that I don’t frequently invent scenarios in which it is torn asunder by savage beasts while I plead no.  no.  please.  stop.  So I’m just sitting here, not doing anything, just sitting.  Interminably sitting, except when I LurchThud to the kitchen for more coffee, scaring the shit (literally) out of poor sweet Mo kitty who scrambles quickly under the bed or behind a chair.  He loves me but he hates ShuBootAh.  And, by the way, my BRFF “Heather” got 49 majillion points for naming the boot.

If either of you wondered, and I’m sure you didn’t since you’re #crazynutjobrunners yourself and surely already know, there is a correlation between the mileage you are putting in and the number of hours you’d like to sleep if Satan had not invented alarm clocks.  Unfortunately, for me at least, there is also a direct correlation between the number of hours you can’t sleep and number of miles you are not running and this past weekend found me wide awake before 5:30 both mornings.  Also, unfortunately, it found me full of energy.

Sooooo by 8:30 Sunday I was up for three hours and I’d already made coffee, read the paper, made more coffee, had breakfast, did the crossword while drinking coffee, watched TV with some coffee and even, desperately, pulled out some needlework to do.  I thought I might vacuum the house (silly idea, I know, but those fluffy balls of cat and dog hair floating up off the stairs and floor continue to stubbornly refuse to disintegrate).  Sadly, I can’t get the vacuum, me, and the boot down the stairs and I’ll be damned if I take the chance of slipping and hurting any other part of my body.  Then I thought of just setting the vacuum on the top stair and kind of holding on but sort of push it down the stairs (which I’d really like to do, in truth, but not because I’m afraid of falling), however the realization that it would smash into a bunch of pieces upon landing on the tile below was enough to dampen my enthusiasm for any part of the activity.  The second realization, that I would then have to explain to hubs that we need a new vacuum when 5 seconds previously we had a perfectly good one pretty much did a Niagara Falls on the idea.  Washed out completely.  So I stuck the vacuum back in the upstairs closet and sighed.

I THUD lurched around the house a bit, aimlessly, swinging my arms.  Maybe that will use up some energy.

And maybe Bill Gates is pulling into my drive right now to announce he wants to give me $10 majillion dollars.

I had some trouble getting out of the pity party.  Everything that distracted me was lame.  It was such a pretty day, cold and crackling crisp, 25 degrees when I woke, but I’m OK with that, I run in the cold and don’t mind it – too much – as long as it’s dry and not windy.  I tried not to look out the window at the beautiful morning as every time I did the zing shot through my head.  “Dammit”  “I can’t run”

NOPE quit, stop, do something.

I went back to the den and sat down again, pulling out the needlework and started scrolling through the 987 channels which had nothing good on any of them, I think I need to pay for HBO.

BUT, wait, what is this?  A 2-hour special on Queen?  Followed by a 2-hour special about Freddie Mercury??

I wasn’t a huge hard rock fan in high school.  Heck, at 13 I was still a Monkees fan (yes.  I was a complete nerd, walking around in my high water jeans since I’d hit 5’8″ the year previously and there was no Gap store in my mall, offering jeans in Tall, nor would my South Dakota farm-raised mom understand the need for specialized jeans.  When she was growing up she had two sets of clothes:  Milk the Cows outfit, Go to School outfit).  I used to think maybe Davy Jones would some day visit Phoenix and be walking down the mall, and I would be at the mall and I would be walking along and he would see me and little fireworks would pop around in the air above his head and he would fall in love with me.

I’m lying.  I didn’t really think that would happen.

But – you know – it’s not like it’s completely impossible, like Bill Gates driving up to the house would be.  And you can see, by my relating this sweet innocent dream, that I was not born the cynic I’ve become.  I look back at that 13 year old and pat her on the head.  It’s OK, you’re doing fine.

Anyway, I digress.  Queen.  I do love hard rock now and play it loudly as I drive around town, me, Queen, AC/DC and my AARP card, I’m rocking it out now, wild and crazy, and no one’s stopping me.  It was particularly fun for me as I got to go to Switzerland once and hubs and I took a day trip to Montreux, where we got our picture taken in front of his statue.  What an incredibly talented man.  I never knew he sang opera.  You learn something new everyday, they say, those “they” people.