Two weeks ago it was -10F outside.
I know, that seems cold to most of you southerners (and in this case, 'southerners' refers anybody not from Fairbanks or points further north - yeah, you too, Canadians), but the truth of the matter is that it should be closer to -30F out.
In fact, starting Sunday the temperature has been hovering around 50F. It rained, hard, Monday night and all the snow melted off. I worked all day Monday and Tuesday in the shop with the big outside doors open and the heat turned off - like I do in the summer.
Yeah, that's right: Palmer, Alaska in mid January and it's 50 and no snow. It should be 4 feet deep out there and -30F. Weird.
Then, last night the temperature dropped into the mid twenties and today we got 6 inches of fresh snow - and it's still coming down. Which means I've got to plow. Which does not thrill me, for a number of reasons, but mostly because I slipped on a patch of ice yesterday. That's right, the only damned patch of ice in the entire MatSu valley and I stepped square in the middle of it getting out of my truck.
On my shoulder.
The bad shoulder.
This seems to be an annual event for me, last year I spent three days on the couch moaning, doped up on morphine and percocet. And while that may sound spiffy to some of you, it wasn't. At all.
This time it is not nearly so bad. I hurt, but it didn't require a trip to the hospital. Just hot packs and Naproxin.
So, I get to plow.
Screw Al Gore, come on Global Warming.
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