We're snowed in. Snow piled up against the doors. Snow drifted across the driveway. Snow piled up against fences and tumbled into corners.
Someone has to dig the house out. I won't be sitting down with a hot cup of coffee and the manuscript I've been revising. I'll be shoveling.
Not that I need to get out. Well, the road's not plowed so I can't go anyplace if I wanted to, but the point is, there's no place I have to be.
On non-snow days, I'd be at the computer, making up stories.
This being a snow day of historic proportions, I'll be outside in below zero wind chill, my ergonomic shovel in hand.
Explain to me again why we can't just hunker down until spring when all this white stuff will melt.
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