Peeved

Yes, peeved. I was very peeved at the weather last night and that's why I didn't write. Writer's was cancelled since no one could make it and knitting was cancelled and I assumed the poetry thing was cancelled. It took me over half an hour to get home and then I couldn't make the van stick to the driveway. It kept sliding back into the street. $#%&@! I had to abandon it there, trudge up the driveway, salt the wheel ruts, then drive back up trying to stay in the tracks. It worked. Whew. I suppose I could have (should have) just snowblowed but, dang it, it was snowing hard and blowing like crazy and I didn't want to, so I figured out a way to make the thing stay where I put it. Stoopid snow. Stoopid van. When I got up around 7 AM I was thrilled to see that our neighbor had snowblowed the end of our driveway and Jenny's too. Thanks, Lee! So I only had to clean off my van and snowblow around it. Thank you, Don, for my big red snowblower! I love it and you! Not necessarily in that order.

Okay, writing. Here's Thursday's, written this morning while waiting for Don to drive off. (We're playing "Don's out of town" tonight.)

February 26--Raphael, Vision of a Knight. The knight lay on the ground, his horse nowhere in sight. He was flanked by two young women, one carried his sword and a Bible, the other a sprig of flowers. The knight was young and handsome in his polished armor and helmet. His clothes looked clean and new. He lay propped upon his shield painted bright red. The brunette woman on the left who held out the sword and Bible looked at him with lowered eyes and her dress was loose and modest. The blond on the right with her little stem of flowers looked at him with a frank gaze and her dress was fastened to emphasize her breasts and she had hiked up one side of her skirt to show her underskirt. She had her knee cocked provocatively as if ready to swing it over him. Both the brunette and the blonde's stomach bulged a bit as if they were in early pregnancy. The knight's eyes were downcast, the merest whisper of a smile playing on his lips, and his hands were loose and open, as if welcoming. But which one? Should he choose the good girl who would help him keep to god and his loyalty to king and country? Maybe he would choose the blond bad girl and live a life of pleasure without responsibility. "Joshua, time for school," his mom said as she passed his door. The dream knight and his ladies fled into the hubbub of teenage life as Josh showered, dressed, and caught the bus.

Today's writing later. You know I'll do it. It might even be good. Or interesting, which would be better still.
--Barbara