Friday, February 3, 2017


One would think, after 28 years, that the act of scraping snow and ice off a car, and of getting into a car only to see your breath inside, would get easier and more bearable over time. Given, however, that assumptions of an ease in suffering are consistently false, and that like all things, this could be an apt metaphor for existence, one finds that the act of clearing up a car in winter never gets easy, and is instead, consistently and utterly despair inducing.

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