HATE is no longer too strong a word for my feelings about this terrain combined with ACTUAL winter.
Driving home last night was truly a bizarre nightmare. I am traumatized for life – again*.
Hatred. Really. I cried for want of a stretch of straight, level road, highway 49, I-10, 98, long, flat roads, with pine trees that actually start growing level with the road and reach ABOVE it – how novel. At the worst, you might have to drive through rain, or some water, maybe skirt an alligator. No biggie. No snow, ice, FALLING !@#$ ROCKS.
I cried for that, stuck there, almost out of gas, idling along that steep slope, packed in with miles of other sad, scared, tired, angry drivers, for that and a few other things (probably some dumb song on the radio, too**…) but only for a few seconds, as it was screwing up my visibility.
45 minutes to go NINE miles.
THEN I got to 108. Little Nissan pimp-mobiles sliding sidewinder, slow and those GIANT yellow Brazil-mobiles with the blades on front and the blinking lights. So surreal. It took 20 minutes to cover that six miles… and then, at the end of it all, the hill from hell.
I can’t begin to describe the hill to my house. Those of you who know are WELCOME to write in with horror-testimonies. It is BAD. VERY steep, VERY curved. Esme (my truck) convinced me that she could make it. (no, she doesn’t talk. But she is very expressive, nonetheless…). We got over the bridge and as we tried to make the push, she slid, and back we went, luckily, I was able to control her enough to get her safely into a ditch. I went to ask the neighbor if it was ok to leave her there until the thaw (in March?) and he insisted that he was “The King of the Hill” (yes, he really said that) and that he could park the truck.
He was so delighted with Esme, that he decided to BACK her down the hill, over the bridge and all the way to grandmother’s house (a good half-block) just so he could “play”. It was about then that I realized he was drunk. As he began to accelerate, he said (mullet a-flutter) that “Whatcha hafta do is get up some speed!” and he did, and then careened up the hill. “I THINK WE CAN MAKE IT! WOO! THIS TRUCK HAS GOT SOME PAIR!”
Amazingly, we did make it. There was much sliding and praying and hollering, the curve at the top of the hill was terrifying, it was like a nightmare fun-park ride. But sure enough, he swung Esme crazily into the driveway, hooting like a wild Indian. It was INSANE. I told him that he had earned the title of King of the Hill. Redneck pride is an awesome thing, y’all.
I was exhausted. Crashed hard, and woke up to the new nightmare of trying to get to work. I ended up having to walk DOWN the hill (yes, I did fall, once, on the thick ice) and my boss kindly met me on the road near the factory. So no Snow Day Off.
And how in the hell am I supposed to do this all again TOMORROW?
!@#$. !@#$-!@#$%^. !@#$a buncha WINTER!!!

* I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said “Great. Another learning experience.”
**wouldn’t you HATE to die in a wreck crying and singing along with Whitney or Barry Manilow?!