Yesterday I dug a path in the snow all the way from our front door, across the yard, to the compost heap. I did this because John and I both tried to crawl our way out there and we both ended up spread eagle in the snow. I said the Eff word a couple of times, John said the Cee word. We both trudged back inside and pretended the whole thing had never happened. An hour later, I decided to take charge of the situation. So I dug. And I sweat. And I dug and sweat some more. Did I mention the rain? Cause it was raining the whole time too. My point is, this has been a hellacious winter. My mama asks how much snow we've got on the ground and I tell her three feet and she says she believes me, but honestly, I think she thinks I'm exaggerating. But y'all. I'm so not. It's so bad that the plow trucks keep overheating and breaking down. It's so bad, that there are wrecks left and right because people keep pulling out in front of people cause they can't see around the mountains of snow that are piled up EVERYWHERE. It's bad, yo. So anyway, after I dug the tunnel, I stripped naked and took a hot-ass bath and then proceeded to have a migraine of historic proportions. Complete with cluster headaches and light sensitivity and regurgitation of everything I've consumed since 1997. I'd sleep for four hours, wake up, think I was gonna be okay, piddle around for 15 minutes, throw up and go back to bed. Between the stress of the snow and the stress of grieving over my sweet-ass Daddy, I'm beginning to think I might need to check myself into the nervous hospital.