God, I love winter.

Except, not really.

Driving home on 226, I was more concerned with keeping my fingers from freezing to the steering wheel to really pay attention to anything more than the black and yellow infront of me. This includes ridiculously huge creatures who decide to take risks and dart infront of me.
I'm wondering what exactly went through this particularly obese raccoon's mind as he saw my big-ass-blazer approaching him. Had he just found out his wife was cheating on him? Did he question the legitimacy of his offspring? Had he just lost his job, and decided that life was no longer worth living... Or perhaps, did he decide that for once in his miserable, scared and dorky life, that he was going to grab life by the tires and take the risk. As he scampered across the pavement, headlights approaching, did he look towards the other side and think to himself, "My god, I'm going to make it! I'm a winner! I knew I could do this!" right before his impending doom?
No. He is a raccoon, and that is all.
That fat bastard thumped so loudly, I thought my damn exhaust pipe had fallen off. I'm pretty sure I lost a few heartbeats.... And I don't think I'll ever be welcomed through the Pearly Gates if any deity happened to listen in on the rather crude and vile string of profanities that filled my vehicle. I briefly considered that perhaps I had run over someone's dog... maybe a saint bernard... But most likely a small horse.
Already pissy, I made it home without incident. Grumbling and trembling so hard I almost couldn't open my door, I trudged across the driveway and into the safe-haven of my yard. I could already feel my mood begin to brighten at the thought of my warm room ...just up the porch stairs... OH holy Christ!! Of all the things that I should have considered, I had not anticipated the two-inch thick layer of Death Frost on the porch. I'm not quite sure what happened during the fall, all I knew was that it hurt. Alot. And I was pissed. Again. Stumbling up, I considered throwing a tantrum and kicking a few yard items...but ended up sitting back down on the (more than likely, now insulted.. depending on if stairs appreciate being called *** *** ****a*** ***ers) stairs and fighting back tears. My ass hurts. And even after going inside, kicking my boots off and sprawling out in front of my space heater, I still feel like somehow, against all logic and reason, it's that damn fatass raccoon's fault.


I hate winter.