What happened was that Locke thought there was some kind of great REASON for him to be there, so he turned the wheel after he saw Jack's dad, and then Baltimore started traveling through time, because Locke is from around here, and finally we stabilized in the Ice Age.
Those thunder-snows, man! A thunder-storm, but with snow instead of rain. And it's really called a thunder-snow!
So I slept downstairs because Buddy was scared, and when I woke up--
Or was it the next day? I just don't remember. The days get mixed up in my head after this insanity. So one day we woke up and saw a leak in the bathroom upstairs. The sun was melting the snow on the roof, but it wasn't strong enough to melt the ice in the pipes, so water started getting into the walls and down the ceiling all the way to the kitchen downstairs, where we still have two large trash cans to collect water leaking from the ceiling.
So there was that.
A neighbor actually suggested I throw salt from the upstairs bathroom window onto the gutters on the roof, so I tried to do that but most of the salt fell straight on my face and inside my hair, and the pigeons were looking at me like I was crazy, because why is this guy standing there with his body out of the window, throwing salt on his head? It just didn't make sense!
And there were the five hours of shoveling a few days ago and another four today. I'm getting really good at that, I have to say. You know how you're about to dig your car out and there's so much snow that you don't even know where to start so you just stand there with your shovel and cry? Well, that probably won't even happen to me next time, because now I know exactly what I'm doing. This shit should be an Olympic sport. Or maybe it should be an Olympic sport in an Adam Sandler movie? They accidentally discover him while he digs his car out in five minutes. He doesn't play by the rules, but he has a heart of gold, and eventually the US shoveling team wins the gold medal.
I'm so tired...
The baby is no longer a baby. He's moved to his Big Boy Bed, which also means that by the time I've written this post he's already visited me 3 times. When he was in the crib and he woke up, he would either cry or try to go back to sleep. Now he just starts walking around the house.
And every once in a while, he says, "Go Saints!"
Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against you if you like Football, but you know, I'm just not from around here. Imagine you move to India and they tell you about this game named after a common bug, where people dress up in white and use a rectangle bat to get the ball to hit this tiny piece of wood, and you say, "Hey, that sound like fun," but they tell you, "NO! THAT'S NOT FUN! THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD, YOU FOOL!" So I like Football, but not living here as a kid, I just can't see the big deal. It's not you, it's me. Unless you love watching the Superbowl commercials, in which case, it is you.