Because that seems to be what people do these days. I'm just happy that I'm writing. I thought about it all the way home, I was going to tweet about it and I thought NO, THIS is one to save for posterity! Really. As John Cage said, "I have nothing to say, and I am saying it".
And it's seriously gross out there! And strange. I just had to walk my bike home from work, because strange grey gross slushyness is spreading over the streets so quickly that riding was immediately apparent as being unsafe. Luckily I had a toque in my bag to wear over my thin under-helmet cap, so I got home with a dry head at least. Thank goodness for nesting hats!
What IS it? It's not freezing rain. It's not sleeting. It's, like, heavy rain that turns to thick, potent slush, as soon as it hits the ground, and that slush immediately builds itself into three-dimensional textures that clump underfoot. The entire terrain has changed in a matter of an hour. It feels like walking on cloud poop. Maybe is is cloud poop?
Whatever it is, it's gross - and vague. I'd take a picture of it but you'd see nothing. You'd be better off taking one of Turner's particularly vague paintings of a hillocky landscape at dusk, smearing it with vaseline, and observing it from too close in a frustratingly dark room.
Do I sound blunt or angry? I feel blunt or angry. It's the weather talking. It's vague and gross. Isn't there some kind of vague and gross army we can call in to clean it up for us??
You know what we need? A slush day to stay home and complain about when it's not as bad as we secretly hoped it would be. Because we all really want all of this to come to a crashing squealing halt don't we? Maybe it will. It looks like the moon out there. A moon with moon poop on it.