No-snow-yet day.

Minnesota prepares for a snowstorm the way a young almost-mother prepares for her first childbirth--the suitcase is packed, in the closet, she clutches the cell phone in her pocket when she leaves the house, just in case, her husband is on speed-dial even before her voicemail, the map to the hospital is hidden in the sun visor in the sedan, even though everybody knows how to get to the hospital. The map has highlighted alternate routes, in case of traffic or accident. Of course, the important stuff was bought months ago. A crib, a car seat, a painted pale orange room, soon-to-be-stained onesies, bottles and pacifiers and soft, plush rattles.

Today, turns out, a total waste of makeup. They called school this morning, and I didn't know it. The alarm went off at 4:30, I snoozed it until 5:00, picked out an outfit, showered, walked through the morning Zombie bit. Even if Mr. O. had known and called as he does, I wouldn't have gotten the call anyway because I'd left my phone in the car, and besides--who checks the news on a clear morning, when the deck is still clear and the sky is cloudless? I should've known these were the perfect conditions for a snow baby.

But Minnesota is not fooled. Minnesota knows the storm is coming. Even before any flakes fell in the state, 250 plows were out pre-treating the roads. Minnesota has been talking about this storm for days, warning commuters to arrange their work travels, cancelling schools before a flake falls, measuring the intensity in the Western states, monitoring the patterns, timing how far apart the storm's contractions are.

Rochester wasn't the only school in the Southeast corner to call it--most schools down here did. All of Wabasha County. Elgin. Pine Island. And I wasn't the only teacher to show up to school, either--although I was the first. Schools cancelled, you know, said a Chemistry teacher to me in the parking lot, after I'd poured half a can of Diet Pepsi all over my face, accidentally. I went in, grabbed some things to grade at home, went back out to find Mr. O pulling in. Schools cancelled. No school! I told him. Naw, he said. That big storm coming, I said.

I considered driving back to Elgin and standing in the driveway with my shovel, waiting for this motherfucker to come. Impatiently. Just wanting to get this over with so I can shovel it out of my way and be done with it. I want to clear this path before it even gets here. I want to pre-shovel my driveway.

And it's 12:30 and the flakes started 10 minutes ago. Just a few floating around, could even be confused with dandelion seeds blowing in the breeze if you didn't know it was winter. But it's winter. Now the wind has picked up, and the snow is blowing sideways. At 11:00 this afternoon, the sky had gotten dark. Again, one of those illusions in late winter when the snow mostly melts after it falls. In the right squint, it could feel like one of those summer days that is dark all day, where you monitor the weather radar from work, wait for a flash of lightening in the distance to confirm that it's time to cancel the picnic. The humidity is strong, you open the window to smell the electricity of the storm. Before the big storms hit, the air charges like a defibrillator before the big shock. Or, I suppose I should've compared it to water breaking. But the water breaking might be more like the first wave of snow or rain. Whatever. The metaphor is now about a young mother who also had a heart attack.

I am fucking sick of winter. I'm glad I'm home today, but the snow day was somehow unexpected to me, even though the rest of Minnesota was ready. I wanted the call to be wrong, and I wanted to look out my window at three and think--ha, Roch, you cancelled for nothing! I sort of want to be in the office right now, working, instead of feeling like I wasted a whole day of sitting in the blue chair. I have so much to do, I do, but I don't want to take advantage of this day. I want to have excuses.

But instead, I have to write a resume and a cover letter. I have to think about my future and jobs and the bad things that can happen because even when writing cover letters, it's impossible to think of the good. Instead, in this snowy fucking mess in Elgin, I have to feel especially trapped in this farmhouse, feeling like if it snows hard and long enough I'll never get to leave.

Fuck this. I'm gonna break out the Fender and write a rock version of the Nanerpus song.