Life. It [Continues]

Kids are throwing snowballs outside the living room window.
They're pushing each other's faces into the ground and laughing as their cheeks come up all red and puffy and swollen.
I just watched them go at it for 10 minutes, but now that I'm all weirded out by my own nosiness, I've come back into my bedroom to listen to snow music that's more quiet and reserved and much more peaceful than those kids. Those uproarious beings. Those good for nothing, loud and disrespectful germs.
They are destroying the snow. Putting holes in such a perfect coat. I wish they wouldn't. I wish I had the gloves from the passenger's side of my car so I could go out there in a black hoodie and long checkered pajama pants and send one big chunk of perfect snow sailing from my fingers to smack them in their faces. Then I would kick them. And dump snow from areas that already are a little ruffled and not a little perfect.
They would be a fan of my assertiveness and throw snowballs back at me.
And I would block their assaults and dive bomb face first into heaps and mounds of plowed snow. Just like them.

My cheeks would come up all red and puffy and swollen.
And I would laugh with them. Come back inside after a while and sit and listen to snow music that's much more quiet and reserved.

More peaceful.