Or Heaven:
It's that time of year again, where I ask myself daily, "What was I thinking?!"
Hell has always been portrayed as a hot, burning place. That version is wrong. Hell is frozen over, where you can't go outside without spending half an hour layering up, and then have to cart that extra 50 lbs with you. Hell is your butt touching that toilet seat at 3:00 a.m. while at the same moment one bare foot misses the rug and lands on the cold tile floor. Hell is never being able to make your fingers function because they're always frozen numb. Hell is weeks and weeks of starting each day by scraping and shoveling frozen stuff off your walk and car and driveway.
As we enter March, I count the number of boat canvas jobs that came into my shop during the month of February: 0. Which matches my bank account, unless you count the credit card, then it's less than nothing. Zip also matches my enthusiasm for gray, damp, dank, chill New England days.
Without gas money to flee south for a break in a car that needs brakes, there's nothing to be done except suffer through, awaiting the season of plenty. The arrival of spring will hopefully see hell thaw out. The mud stage should usher in sunshine, sailing weather, and income.
And when the leaves turn dead and drop off as the season of replenishment winds down, if anyone should hear me even think about staying here another winter, please whap me with a big hunk of fish carcass until I come to my senses.
I'm going back to sleep. Don't wake me till it's green and sunny out, or unless your boat is in the tropics needing canvas work, and you're willing to fly me, my sewing machine and all the materials in to do the work.
At this moment, I will work for sunshine.
