Bullocks.

I am one lucky son of a gun. On any usual day, I could drive around and around the parking lots of the Collingswood Train station and never find a spot. But on a day when a lot of the spots were filled with mounds of snow rather than cars and the street parking was equally as snow filled, I was able to find a spot in the main lot. I can see the draw, though. When I returned to my car later, I found a quaint little package on my windshield. Within was a pouch of candy and a very lovely card congratulating me on my survival to my car. I really think I should have received the latter part when I arrived at my house, though. It had begun to snow again when I left the train station and grew worse and worse the further south I got. About 10 exits from mine, the roads were essentially completely unplowed and were covered in snow. Normally I would be driving about 75mph all the way home, but I was barely able to go over 40 without feeling the slippy slip under my tires. It was even worse off the highway. I didn't get over 20mph. Every red light I hit was a pain in the ass. My tires did not want to grip when I had to get moving again. It was ridiculous. All fresh and slippery. I'm pretty good at driving in the snow and I wound up getting a headache just from focusing on the road for so long. The conditions were ridiculous. This winter is bullocks.