The Waiting if the Hardest Part

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On Thursday afternoon I called for Oliver:

“You want to play ball?”

My poor dog had heard so much about the coming snow that he probably (if he were able) would’ve said:

“Where’s the snow?”

I ran into guys on the jobs on Thursday who’d already seen the first snowfall.

The announcers mentioned something about the snow arriving at 4:00. Then it was moved to 7:00. Finally, I heard that it would be an overnight event.

The Sunday Bills game was moved.

Job after job mentioned that Friday would be a dead day.

Two feet, three feet, four feet, six feet.

No one was talking about anything that we’d be able to shovel and go.

So, I started talking myself into not worrying about the schedule that I’d set for myself at the start of the week.

I wasn’t going to finish everything I wanted to accomplish.

Not my fault.

Nothing I can do.

But the longer it took for the snow to arrive, the more anxious I became.

I’m not quite sure how bad this will be, but we have a lot of food in the house.

We have bread, milk and a big pot of chili.

Plenty of toilet paper too.

But to sum it all up let’s cut to a scene from around 10:30 on Thursday morning.

I was walking across a site that will eventually be home to huge apartment complexes.

The wind kicked up and I felt it…

…in the center of my bare forehead.

“F***ing Mother F***!” I screamed.

I didn’t think there was anyone within a hundred yards of me…

…but I heard laughter.

“I just screamed the same exact thing,” a young kid said.

He was carrying a shovel and a pick. That poor bastard was digging a hole.

Wind blowing, ice cold.

“Why do we live here?” He asked.

How bad will it get?

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