Don't get me wrong - I love and appreciate the incredible beauty of the falling snow. Whether it's falling in thick, wet clumps - the better to build snowpeople with - or tiny, fragile flakes that glitter on the sidewalk like tiny diamonds, and the wind blows them away into drifts... Nothing as beautiful as being somewhere warm and watching the snow come down, whether it's dancing erratically on barely-there winter breezes, or slanting so much sideways it looks like it's being blown by a machine.
I appreciate that we need snow, to store water throughout the winter months in the higher elevations, so we have it in the spring and summer.
I just don't like dealing with it when it's like this.
How I am is okay. It's okay that I am keeping my new place "hot" according to B-f's lights, because that makes me feel comfortable. It's okay that my TV remote control buttons stay lit for 3 seconds after pressing them, even though that "wastes" the battery, because that's how I want it. It's okay that I am arranging the furniture the way I like and getting up when I like and going to bed when I like and eating junk food if I'm in the mood or just broccoli if I want, without sarcastic comments about my weight or the stinkiness of steamed broccoli (I admit, it does smell like dirty diapers. But now I can burn scented candles or incense, to help dissipate the odor, so there!)
I'm getting to feel comfortable in my own skin again, and it feels sooooo good.