Treated you like a rusty blade, a throw away from an open grave

Recently, Rick told me I could once again park in the driveway. His son, who'd been staying with him, had borrowed his car for a few weeks. This morning, I looked out the kitchen window to see how much snow we got and saw a massive tree limb perched on the rear of my car. It didn't look too bad, and it wasn't, but I think it's kind of funny that once I started parking in the driveway again, a tree beats the shit out of it. Oh, well.

I went out and shoveled shortly after waking up. My intention to sleep in was squelched by Steve, who had his snow blower going bright and early. How could I have forgotten? I was halfway finished with the driveway, when Rick came out, shovel in hand, to join me. "Why don't you just let Steve do the driveway?", he asked. I didn't say this, but my thought was the less I hear of that god-damned snow blower the better. Last storm, he had it going all day and well into the night. No exaggeration. This storm produced more snow, so I can rest assured I'll be listening to that confounded piece of machinery all day and all fucking night. It's about one o'clock and he's still going strong. His driveway was cleared off long ago, but he's still going. Fucking prick. Seriously, fucking prick!

I'm beat after the shoveling and tree removal, but a nap seems impossible with Steve's noise pollution outside my window, so maybe I'll just read or watch a movie. Maybe Steve will take a short break and I'll be able to squeeze in a nap. Somehow I doubt that will happen. Oh, well, I'll make the best of the day off.