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speckled grey windshield The falling snow this morning added to my illusion of stopping time. My birthday may have been over, but my good mood had stayed with me through the night. Not having to go to work for the past two nights was great and knowing that I still didn't have to go back until Friday night was even better. It probably sounds as though I need to find a new job, but my plan is to bail sometime after I get back from Australia next year. Leaving any time before that would interfere with the rest of my plans for this coming spring. There weren't any sudden revelations about my life yesterday nor was I expecting any. I was still me and I knew that nothing immediate would change just because it was my birthday. In fact I know that I've been changing throughout the year. These were subtle changes and maybe something that should have been done sooner. Maybe that sounds like a contradiction, but it would be true. ... Before I went to class this afternoon, I decided that it would be a good idea to clear the driveway of some snow. It isn't my responsibility, but I didn't want to pack it down by driving over it. From the four previous winters that I've been living here, I know that the driveway has a habit of becoming an ice sheet after a day or two of neglect. My neighbors seem to prefer salt as the best means of attack, but that doesn't always work and it does a job on my car and shoes. After about five minutes on the driveway, my downstairs neighbor poked her head out the door and asked what was I doing. She looked awful as I explained why I was shoveling. I think that the scraping might have woken her from a nap. Then I learned the real reason why she looked so miserable. It seems that her and her husband have separated. Suddenly I knew why I hadn't seen his car for a few days. ... With the recent warmer temperatures, the snow was slop more than anything else on my drive to class. From the pounding traffic the gentle snow from the morning had been transformed into slush and grime. Rather than a winter wonderful, I was left with a Dickens scene of squalor. Somehow that seems to be the other side of winter as opposed to the picture perfect version. Dashing through the snow was the last thing on my mind as I made way across town. ... In class the professor asked for my opinion of the book that we had been assigned and I had to confess that I was only part way into the book. I explained that it had been my birthday the day before and this elicited a murmur of acknowledgement from the rest of the class. The word hangover was uttered by more than one person. Naturally this was followed by an inquiry as to my new age and a quick survey of the rest of the class for their ages. As I suspected I am the oldest person in the class besides the professor who is only my senior by five years. She assured me that the thirties is a good place to be and I have to agree. My life does seem to get better with each year.
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