Not under the weather; over it!

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By Barb Ickes | Saturday, March 8, 2008 11:03 PM CST | () comments

This winter has been the longest 10 years of my life.

Cabin fever? Try cabin hater. My house feels like a prison with looser rules and bigger rooms.

You ever get so desperate for warmth and light that you duct tape a flashlight to the blow dryer? As they say in Arizona in August: It’s a dry heat.

This winter of ice storms and every-other-day snowfall and soulless, sunless cold has turned more than one of us into a crab. Don’t deny it. I’ve seen you. You’ve honked at me. So my driving is a little more mindless than usual. Sue me. And file it in Key West, will you?

I’m sick of putting on an extra pair of socks because I know I have to stop for gas.

I’m sick of the scraper riding shotgun in my car. I’m sick of my car.

Which reminds me: I can’t hit a pothole without saying: “That couldn’t have been good,” or “I think I lost a tooth.”

And have you talked to your neighbors lately? Several people in my hood think somebody else is mad at them. No one can remember why we haven’t spoken since the Holiday House Hop. Two solid months of isolation have made us paranoid.

The last time I saw the 3-year-old twins from three doors down they were playing in a pile of leaves. They’ll probably be shaving by Easter. The Winter of 2008: A Decade of Gloom.

The crabbiness is everywhere. I’ve noticed several convenience-store clerks, already put out about having to smoke outside, are getting good and sick of customers blaming them for the “pre-pay” rules. The clerks didn’t invent that rule, people. Why would they want to deal with us twice?

When you’re buying rehydrating body lotion by the 55-gallon drum, a tank of gas seems like a bargain, though, doesn’t it? Help me out here. I’m trying to be positive.

But the truth of the matter is that I’m annoyed by everything winter. I’m even chafed by the sound the vacuum makes when it sucks the sidewalk salt out of the carpet in the entryway. It’s clearly mocking me.

I’m sick of telling my cat, Jack, “I’m bored, too, but

you don’t see me eating the houseplants.”

I’m sick of boots and turtlenecks and gloves. I’ve had it with a closet full of fleece, and I’m tempted to layer a half-dozen T-shirts and head to the office. Who would notice? I could show up in a snorkel and feather boa, and no one would say a thing. We haven’t looked at each other since New Years.

I’m sick of all the piles of plowed snow eating up the good parking spaces.

I’m sick of feeling like I ate one of the parking spaces.

Remember when we thought the snow was pretty?

Yeah, well, it isn’t pretty anymore. It’s tiresome. It’s heavy. It’s cold and stupid, and I am so ready for spring that I could … write a column about how sick I am of winter.

So there.

Barb Ickes can be contacted at (563) 383-2316 or bickes@qctimes.com.