Hello anger!

Lately there has only been one 

word to really describe my mental state.

LISTLESS

Actually there are lots of words to describe 

my current condition, but that seems the most apropos. 

I have had the winter gag-me-nots.

And a deep, chesty, cough that is determined to become part of my genetic make-up.

But last night for no particular reason, something lit a fire under me.

It was this.

A closer look?

Let me explain.

We had a blizzard a week or so ago.

And because Chicago is a tightly packed area with 

very little room for such an excess of snow, a lot of cars become 

walled in by it. 

So, post blizzard if you want to go anywhere you have to spend a good amount of

time and calories digging yourself out.  

After you return from your tryst it is quite possible

that all of your work is now benefiting someone else's vehicle.

It is a sad story. But it is the reality of street parking.

Now, it appears that there is some kind of etiquette in place that says you can save

your spot with a dirty lawn chair or plastic grocery crate.

(ya know, like saving seats for the 4th of July parade)

People seem to abide by this standard. Fine. Whatever. I don't drive that much.

But, some people choose to abuse this social courtesy by claiming spots

that perhaps they didn't dig out of.  

Enter EXIBIT A.

The orange cone man.

This is a view from my window. 

Last night I was witness to his sly routine of

coming home stashing the sign in his trunk and stowing the cone beneath his car.

It awoke such a rage in me as I have not seen since they

did away with the Juniper Breeze scented lotion at Victoria Secret.

He did not dig out this spot. He is a single guy with no kids to schlep.

He drives a Mustang.

My first inclination was to simply go and claim

the cone as my own. People leave couches and

tables out for reclamation all of the time here.

But, as I unfolded my plan to listening ears I was 

prevailed upon to leave the cone.  After all, I don't know this man

and if he happened upon me in my jammies, dragging his cone to

it's doom, he might feel inclined to retaliate. 

Then I would have to duel with him and he would meet

his ultimate demise.  I can't have that on my conscience. 

So, for the mean time, while I am attempting to growing a pair so I can go out

and put my own sign on his cone, I would like to offer him thanks for re-awakening 

my dormant passion for justice.

Hopefully, he doesn't pay too dearly for it.