In the fell clutch of circumstance

Why is it that, when you are least capable of dealing with something, that something flies in your face like an enraged blue jay?
You know what I mean, gentle readers. This phenomenon arises from the same family of atrocities as the phone ringing when you’re in the bath tub, or a sudden rain shower arriving just as you’ve finished waxing your car. Really, I’m trying not to start raving about this, but the last couple of weeks have included just about all the irritation my frazzled nervous system can bear, and then some.
You’ve probably been in much the same boat yourselves. If so, I’d appreciate it if you could pick up a paddle because I’m sick and tired of rowing all by myself.
See what I mean, gentle readers? I’m just a hop, skip and a jump away from ending up in a room with soft walls, wrapped in a giggle jacket.
The holiday season is always stressful, even in the best of times, which these certainly have not been. It has been colder than an ex-wife’s stare, and the abundance of frozen precipitation has brought its own collection of joys.
We no longer have to wonder what it was like living in a world without computers, television, radio, central heating or electric light. We know first hand, thanks to not one but two charming ice storms. If I ever get my hands on the guy who came up with the idea of an “all-electric home” he won’t see another sunrise.
Now, in all fairness, we should extend a hearty and warm “thank you” to all the linemen, tree trimmers and others of that ilk who trooped into Arkansas from all over the country to help restore electric power to our homes and businesses. They didn’t cause the storm, and they worked in some truly dreadful conditions to get the lights back on. Good job, guys.
And many of us, who had trees on our property that overhung power lines, should hang our heads in shame. We knew it was a perilous situation, but we never quite got around to taking care of it. Of course, in some cases, big trees just split down the middle and fell all over everything. Not much you can do about that.
With that out of the way, we can cast a withering glance in the direction of the power company executives who made it necessary to import those workers from all over the place because they failed to make necessary preparations for evil weather here at home, in spite of all the meteorologists’ dire predictions for a harsh winter. Thanks a lot, fellas. I hope the Public Service Commission has a nice little present for you before the year is much older.
The foul weather also has (in descending order of irritation potential) turned my roof into Swiss cheese, reduced the beautiful trees in my yard (which were nowhere near any power lines) to a pile of rubble, and put a month-long hold on garbage pick-up at my house. Is it any wonder I’m in such a rotten mood?
And, referring back to the opening paragraph of this opus, what has made me incapable of dealing with these vicissitudes? On top of everything else, I am now dealing with a world class head cold. When I am ill, it is best to avoid me by any means necessary. I’m a nasty old curmudgeon even when I’m on my best behavior, but a stuffed-up nose, watery eyes, sore throat and chest-deep cough turn me into something out of an H.P. Lovecraft story.
My own loved ones have learned this painful lesson. I believe the accepted impression is, “When Dad’s sick, he doesn’t talk, he snarls.”
Oh, well. I suppose I’ll get over it, as will the rest of you, gentle readers. One thing, though. The next time I hear somebody wish for a White Christmas, they’d better be prepared to duck.