Upon Snow and Epic Journeys

New York City received over a foot of snow this week, and my town got blanketed. A long day of shoveling did little to free my buried car, as every time I would make some progress the plows would make their way down the street and bury me again. Unfortunately, the NYC Department of Sanitation's plows angle their payload toward the right side of the street, which is where I was unthinkingly parked. Why would I have parked there you ask?;

On Friday night I went out to the city to imbibe with my Brobdingnagian compatriot, and succeeded in getting myself spun six-ways from sober. Jagermeister compounded Captain Morgan and Coke, and lager lent a hand wherever possible. When 3:00 AM arrived, I struck out for the subway, and followed a swerving course down a very straight street. I found my train and began the ride home. The undeniable desire for a somnolent state overwhelmed my normally trustworthy homing beacon, which guides me toward my abode regardless of state or station. I awoke with a start to find myself at New Lots Avenue, at the end of the line for the subway I had begun on. I had missed my transfer and slept soundly until I found myself far afield from where I needed to be. I roused myself from my seat and changed trains to journey back into Manhattan and successfully transfer to the train I needed. Despite my best intentions, sleep overpowered me again, and I sank in deeply. When I again awoke, I was entirely lost. I read the station signs frantically as the train moved on, and tried to reconcile myself with what part of the city I now found myself. Moshliu Parkway at the top of the Bronx . I had managed not only to sleep past my transfer again, but I had traveled from one end of the 4-train line to the other, from the bottom of Brooklyn to the top of the city. Further, I had slumbered through the period where the train turns around and sets out again, and now I was traveling southbound again. As I passed Yankee Stadium, I began to dialog with the Lord, and plead for his assistance in making my way home at last. I traversed the entire span of Manhattan, and finally made my successful transfer at Fulton Street. Boarding the A train, I know felt confident that I would be able to make my way home at last, to the Broad Channel station where my car was parked. I counted-down the stations as I inched closer to my destination. However, as though Poseidon and Zeus conspired against me, I once again succumbed to the siren song of sleep. I awoke at the Mott Avenue station in Far Rockaway with a curse of frustration. How could I have done this again! I entreated upon a nice woman sitting across from me to please wake me, should she see me sleeping again when the train reached the Broad Channel station. As we sat and waited for the train to move, I inhaled deeply from the frigid air, coaxing my mind to stay wakeful. Shivering and tired, but bound and determined to make this work, I stayed awake until I reached Broad Channel. I got into my waiting car and drove home. When I turned the corner to my block, as the hour passed 8:30 AM, I pulled into an open spot on the right side of the street and parked the car, thus dooming the Volvo to be plowed in on Sunday.