Book review: A Complaint Free World: How to Stop Complaining and Start Enjoying the Life You Always Wanted

A Complaint Free World: How to Stop Complaining and Start Enjoying the Life You Always WantedA Complaint Free World: How to Stop Complaining and Start Enjoying the Life You Always Wanted by Will Bowen
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It would be wrong, of course, to complain about this book.

But I do have one minor concern, if I may. While author Will Bowen issues the challenge of going complaint-free for 21 days, he only addresses verbally complaining to others–face to face, like in the olden days before social media. He doesn’t specifically say if complaining on Twitter or Facebook or anywhere online still counts. I think it would, but the clarification would be nice.

Also, declaring sarcasm as complaining-with-humor (which is more or less true) would make this challenge nigh-impossible for me. I love sarcasm the way Jupiter loves gravity.

Still, I want to try, because the numerous examples of people forsaking all manner of complaining (except in their thoughts, as Bowen admits trying to police the 70,000-odd thoughts we have on average per day would be…daunting) provide compelling reasons to go complaint-free. It’s not just turning off negativity, it’s about opening yourself up to the positive, to thinking beyond problems, instead of just dwelling on them. Bowen admits that it is, to a degree, committing to a kind of self-delusion, but he asserts that those complaining are equally delusional, just in a negative, counter-productive way.

Not every story told in the book worked for me. The opening story, in which Bowen’s beloved dog is mortally injured in a hit and run, left me with too many unanswered questions. Bowen drives after the truck responsible and confronts the owner at the front step of his home. The driver is dismissive, noting how he doesn’t care and if Bowen tries to clock him in revenge, that’s assault. Bowen leaves, still in a rage, but ultimately realizes the driver has undoubtedly suffered pain in his life, enough to make him indifferent to killing an innocent dog, and he makes peace with himself over what happened. This is fine for Bowen.

But I was left wondering what an apparently unchecked sociopath like that driver would go on to do, having emerged from the incident without any repercussions. I’m not concerned about meting out punishment–the driver obviously needed help–but without any consequences for remorselessly taking out a cherished family pet, what might the driver do in the future?

Still, this story comes early and Bowen otherwise capably builds a case for going complaint-free, even as he notes how tough it is. Most people take 8-10 months before they get to 21 days in a row (the number of days was chosen as Bowen says it’s how long it takes for something to become a habit).

There really isn’t an effective counter-argument to be made for going complaint-free, unless you see anger, negativity and bitterness as strengths. Maybe if you’re The Incredible Hulk.

The book itself is a quick, easy read, and the stories shared by others are all so positive you can’t help but feel compelled to at least try. Being very much a “get it down in writing” kind of guy, I would have liked a bit more on the nuts and bolts of going complaint-free, and some of Bowen’s advice for dealing with complaint triggers is presented a bit glibly (“Get a new job! Drop your friends! Spend less time with your family!”), even if the advice is ultimately accurate.

Going complaint-free, especially with the veritable storm of negativity the media surrounds us with every day, is an immense challenge, but Bowen makes the reward sound worth it. Recommended.

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Writing exercise: Tweets from the end of the world

I’ve kicked around this story idea for awhile. It uses the same premise as Fade-Out or The Tommyknockers (among other stories). This is Part 1 and I may or may not get finished. For this exercise I’ve decided to tell the story as a series of tweets (it’s a little easier now with the expanded 280 character limit). It’s like a found footage movie, but without the footage.

Tweets from the end of the world

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 3rd
Was riding at Colony Farm, nearly wiped out on something sticking up out of gravel. Something dark, rounded. Dug around a bit with stick, no idea. May come back tomorrow if weather good. Bike & me OK.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 4th
Went back to Colony, brought camping shovel. Tried to dig around object but park worker told me to leave. WTF, they’re never there. Will try again on weekend.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 6th
@RealFrump the name is a Simpsons reference (isn’t everything?) Look it up.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 7th
Back at Colony again. No workers. Dug and wtf, whatever it is, its huge judging from curve. Giant rock? Gravel pit nearby so probably that. Very smooth. Looks like it’s higher out of ground now. Maybe just brain being dumb. #notallbrains

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 8th
Went back to Colony again. YES I AM OBSESSED. Rock is definitely bigger or ground around it is sinking. #notageologist Surface very smooth and cold, almost looks like crystal? No shovel today.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 9th
Brought Liam, we dug for 20 min? Liam: Big as fuckin house. Potty mouth. Surface is translucent. Can almost make out a pattern about an inch or so down. Cloudy so phone pic is crap.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 10th
Definitely rising out of ground. Has pushed up enough to split trail in two. Park workers probably rope off area soon. Better picture of pattern. Just random lines to me. Liam says alien language.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 11th
CAUTION: DO NOT CROSS tape around object on all sides, four posts holding up tape. Looks like boxing ring. No other activity. Object little taller than me, looks like 18-20 feet across (what’s visible). Liam says could be radioactive, stay clear.

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 12th
Temporary fence up now, about 20-30 feet from object. Can go around but off trail very marshy. Object def. taller than me now, maybe 15 feet high. Liam made sketch of hidden part, wrote “alien mothership” underneath. Cute. Like Tommyknockers (shit book but fun) /1

FishBulb @joshuawellons • Nov 12th
Have not lost any teeth yet or built weird energy-saving devices.

Writing exercise: Christian and his hair

A bit of spontaneous writing where Christian (circa Road Closed, when he is 20 years old) talks about his hair and puberty (925 words):

Christian talks about his hair, puberty and jetting blood

What would you think if I told you I’m a redhead? Would you think I have a fiery temper? That I’m a passionate lover?

I’m pretty mellow most of the time. The rest of the time I’m usually asleep. As for being a passionate lover, I kiss like a St. Bernard. Yeah, it’s gross. Usually because I’ve been drinking. I’m the St. Bernard in that Bugs Bunny cartoon that helps himself to the keg around his neck.

Regarding other redhead myths, I’m also not a witch, and the question of whether or not I have a soul remains to be determined. I probably won’t be able to answer that one, at least not without scaring the crap out of you when I return from the spirit realm with a really convincing response.

Puberty arrived shortly after I turned 14 and a couple of things happened, as you probably know from that talk your mom and dad avoided having that you later heard on the street. The first was the growth spurt. I went from kid height to slightly taller than my father in what felt like a span of a few weeks. I swear I could actively hear my bones popping and stretching.

And the hair. Oh god, the hair. It was like I caught a hair grenade just as it exploded. Hair on my chest, hair down yonder–so much and so fast that I almost wanted to ask about it, wondering if it was normal. But who do you talk to about something that? A priest at confession, maybe, but my family didn’t go to church. Besides, it wasn’t a sin, it was just weird.

The facial hair was the biggest surprise. We’ve all seen those high school photos where the guys are sporting wispy My First Mustaches. They look ridiculous, all of them. I didn’t have one of those. I woke up one morning and had five o’ clock shadow, as if someone had pressed it onto the lower half of my face and neck while I slept. It was so thick it might have been applied with a paint brush. By the end of each day I had enough stubble to strike a match on. I hated it. Worst of all, while the rest of my hair was a brilliant red, the facial hair was jet black. I was two-tone. It looked ridiculous. I looked ridiculous.

I taught myself to shave by using my dad’s Gillette razor. He also had a straight razor I’d seen him use once or twice but the one time I picked it up I got the strongest, strangest premonition that involved me staggering around the bathroom, painting the room with the blood jetting from my neck. I cut myself plenty with the Gillette because I had no idea what I was doing, I was just desperate to get rid of the two-tone, because it was entirely too mock-worthy and as we all know, schoolkids are not kindly creatures.

After a particularly bad week of nicks that left my face and neck covered with dabs of toilet paper, I made a trip to the local pharmacy and furtively headed past the shelves of condoms and lubricants to the hair coloring section. I grabbed a box and for a moment considered lifting it. I have one of those YES I JUST COMMITTED A CRIME COME AND SEARCH ME faces, though, so I shuffled to the checkout at the back of the store to pay for the goods.

“Is that for your mother?” the checkout girl asked. She was about 18 but I didn’t recognize her. She was in high school, I was in middle school. We orbited in different galaxies.

I lifted my head, wondering why I didn’t think of that, and was about to proclaim, “Oh god yes! Of course it’s for my mother!” and then she really looked at me and I watched her eyes go from my (red) hair to my face to the box of hair color, back to my face, and then rather too quickly to the till to ring through the purchase.

Dammit.

The worst part is I made a complete botch-up of the dye job. I read the instructions, it didn’t matter. I was sober. Again, it made no difference. I had plenty of shadow but not really enough hair. My attempt left the bottom of my face looking diseased. I shaved off the stubble and scoured the dye that had stained through to the skin with some pumice soap my mom had but never used. It made me smell nice, but left my face looking raw and terrible.

The next day at school was the first time I got mocked for my looks. Of course.

I learned to accept my two-tone hair, but I never learned to like it. I shave religiously now–I say a prayer before each shave that goes something like, “Please God make all of my facial hair fall out and never come back” and then I quickly take it back because I’d probably lose my eyebrows and look like a freak. Also I use an electric razor. Much less nicking and clean-up is easier. For a time I took the shaver with me everywhere, like a companion, and I’d just spontaneously whip it out and make sure that five o’ clock shadow never got past 10 a.m.

I brought it with me to college but one day I forgot it at the apartment, couldn’t find it when I returned, and now I’m apparently growing a beard.

Writing exercise: A Walk in the Snow (Part 1)

I vowed to write at least 250 words of fiction every day this year, so here’s the first attempt. I tried scouring some writing prompt sites but they left me feeling despair, so I just mulled things over, remembered how much I hate snow and the results are below (352 words).

This is the first part of what could be a scene, a story or a big budget Hollywood production. I can’t say when I’ll write Part 2. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. It’s a surprise.

A Walk in the Snow, Part 1

It is very quiet in the snow.

That’s how I hear the person walking behind me. I stop and a moment later the person stops. It is silent again.

I am walking down a service road that’s about two kilometers long. Its main function is to provide access to railway workers and park staff, but there’s little vehicle traffic on it most days. Tonight it’s covered in virgin snow and I’m up to my knees in the stuff after an early winter blast. My breath frosts in front of me, a steamy cloud that drifts up into a clear, dark sky and disappears.

I’m about halfway down the road, heading toward South Street, the main road that runs through my neighborhood. I live a few blocks east of South. I like telling people that, then watch their faces as they try to process it.

It’s bright enough to make my way without a flashlight. There is no artificial light here, just the stars dotting the black above and the snow shimmering around me.

I became aware of the footsteps–more the sound of someone pushing their way through the snow, really–a few minutes earlier. Twice I’ve tested by stopping and the person following has also stopped. It’s hard to escape the sensation that I am prey being stalked. The snow is just deep enough to make a quick escape impossible. The closest things to weapons I carry are my house keys and smartphone. I keep my breathing calm, knowing this person is probably close enough to see the puffs. Don’t show signs of panic. I gaze up at the sky, as if I’m looking for a constellation. Casual. Curious. Inconspicuous.

Maybe.

I resume walking and count one thousand one, one thousand two. The footsteps resume behind me, shushing through the snow. It will take at least fifteen minutes to reach South Street, where the road is plowed, the sidewalks shoveled and regular traffic passes by. It seems very far away. I strain to hear cars but it’s late and all I hear are my steps and the ones mirrored behind me.

(to be continued)

Compilation craziness

For some reason (well, sale prices helped) I’ve gone on a compilation-buying binge lately, having grabbed the following greatest hits/best of collections:

  • Elton John, Diamonds
  • Madonna, The Immaculate Collection
  • Neil Young, Greatest Hits
  • Elvis: 30 #1 Hits
  • Don Henley, Actual Miles: Henley’s Greatest Hits

A bit of an eclectic mix and my first purchases of anything by Madonna, Elvis or Don Henley (if you exclude The Eagles). The songs collected on these albums span 60 (!) years, from 1956 to 2016. All of Elvis’s output alone is more than 40 years old, what with him having died in 1977 and all.

I suppose I truly became a gay man when I bought the Madonna collection. I’d come across both “Live to Tell” and “Papa Don’t Preach” on YouTube recently and remembered how catchy those old songs were and then I suddenly owned them. The whole album is a confident, concise set of well-crafted pop songs. Even “Like a Virgin” doesn’t sound as dirty as I remember it. Maybe I’m thinking more of the video, where Madonna writhes around on the floor in a wedding dress. She’d probably put her back out doing the same thing now.

The Elvis collection is a paean to how short singles used to be, with the majority of the songs clocking under three minutes and some under two. The delivery, especially on some of the earliest tunes, is still delightfully saucy more than half a century later.

Neil Young’s collection is alternately beautiful, angry and heartfelt. The ending tracks of “Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World” and “Harvest Moon” is like getting punched in the gut, then being gently kissed after.

Henley’s music is a bit disappointing in how much it’s a product of its time, with the tracks heavy on the 80s synths. Some genuinely good work, though, even if the sound is dated (does not include “The Garden of Allah”).

John’s collection is massive and sprawling, covering 46 years on its own. That he is still able to write solid songs nearly five decades later is kind of amazing. I wonder if he ever goes, “Neener neener” to Billy Joel when they tour together (Joel released less than half as many albums over his career).

Anyway, maybe I’ll buy something this year that is actually recorded this year. In the meantime I’ve got nostalgia up to the armpits.

Run 563: Nike says I’m slow

Run 563
Average pace: 6:24/km

Location: Brunette River trail
Start: 12:32 pm
Distance: 5.01 km
Time: 32:07
Weather: Foggy
Temp: 2ºC
Humidity: n/a
Wind: light to moderate
BPM: 166
Weight: 162.3 pounds
Total distance to date: 4380 km
Devices: Apple Watch, iPhone, Nike+ Run Club app

Today I decided to be wacky and use the Nike+ Run Club app for my run, since it now monitors heart rate. And I got wacky results!

My pace was a strangely slow 6:24/km–this is more of a joggish than jogging pace, and while I was running slower due to some lingering icy patches on the trail, as well as to keep my BPM down, I wasn’t that slow. Another sign that things were off was the distance I had to travel to get to 5K. At the point the Apple fitness app would be reporting I’d completed the run, the NRC app was saying I’d only completed around 4.41 km. That’s a huge discrepancy.

There is no way to calibrate the Nike app, so I’m not sure why it was so bonkers. It seemed to get the BPM about right, since that data is pulled directly from the watch (it was 166, still a tad high but much lower than the last few runs so yay on that). I wonder if the app somehow didn’t use the GPS and instead relied on the much -less-accurate accelerometer. On the other hand, I’ve found that non-GPS runs tend to err on the side of being too generous with pace, not too stingy. A further complication is that what you get in the watch and phone apps depends on whether you are using one of the Nike-branded watches, as they come with some exclusive features, such as built-in Siri support. It felt wrong having to start the run by pressing buttons and stuff.

It was almost worth it for the better stats and ability to access the runs on the web (I find it immensely irritating that the fitness workouts through Apple’s app can only be reviewed on an iPhone–not even an iPad, which would at least give you a bigger map to look at).

The final quirk was no audio notifications. I wondered if this was another feature locked out of the non-Nike version of the watch, but it turned out to be working. I just didn’t hear it because the audio literally comes from the watch, not through the phone via the watch. So I was getting alerts but was oblivious to them because of the music blaring away. I only caught a bit of the summary at the end when I’d paused the music. I could fix this by starting the run from the phone instead of the watch or by syncing the AirPods to the watch (which also means listening to music from the watch, not the phone).

Anyway, it was in all a disappointing experience.

The run itself was okay, no issues other than the left knee being stiff to start but warming up not too far in. I did 5K on the river because I’m pretty sure the lake trail is still a pathway of treacherous ice and adventure.

I’ll walk tomorrow at lunch, which will allow me to survey the Langara Trail to see how it has weathered (ho ho) the recent snows.

Also, this marks the first run of the year. If I keep up this pace I’ll complete 365 runs by year’s end! That is somewhat unlikely, but I’ve already topped the number of runs I did in January 2016.

Fat squirrels in love

(With apologies to Loverboy.)

Today I strolled a bit around Central Park in Burnaby, taking advantage of the somewhat rare dry conditions. It was cold (relatively speaking–we don’t get frostbite warnings here) but was clear and otherwise pleasant.

The two ponds were partly frozen and the seagulls were shuffling in a way that struck me as funny. Birds probably don’t like falling on their faces any more than humans do.

You can’t see them shuffling here, but I present seagulls walking on water all the same:

On frozen pond, starring seagull and ducks.

It looks kind of chilly because it was. But sun! Blue sky! Wondrous and amazing!

Sun and shade on ice.

Some things never change, though. The squirrels remain as chunky as ever, given the generous food donations made by good-hearted passersby. NOTE: squirrels can feed themselves, you don’t need to help them. Really! Several people were feeding them today and they are kind of cute when they’re scampering (or waddling) around–until you get close to them and realize they kind of look like rats with bushy tails. Check out the thighs on this one. He could be checking into Weight Watchers tomorrow as part of his New Year resolutions.

“I’ll gladly trade you a perky twitch of my tail for anything I can eat. NOM NOM FEED ME.”

The reason I can get so close for pictures like this is the squirrels have shed their customary wariness of humans, having grown accustomed to people approaching them with armfuls of fudge instead. Or maybe not fudge, maybe nuts or whatever the people have in their pockets that is both edible and something they’re willing to give up to these fur-covered blubber balls.

Anyway, it was a nice walk and I didn’t slip or fall. Hooray.

December 2017 weight loss report: Up 1.1 pounds

The good (?) news is the flow of fat has slowed in December, which is somewhat surprising given the regular indulgences this month and the usual lack of exercise that goes along with the consumption of things that go to the waist.

I was up again, though, from 161 pounds to 162.1 pounds. The bad news is I started and ended the month above 160 pounds. Bleah.

For the year to date I am still down overall, but not by much. 165.9 on January 1 and 162.1 on December 31 is a total weight loss of a mere 3.8 pounds.

December 1: 161 pounds
December 31: 162.1 pounds

Year to date: From 165.9 to 162.1 pounds (down 3.8 pounds)

And the body fat:

January 1: 19.1% (31.7 pounds of fat)
December 31: 18.4% (29.9 pounds of fat)

Still down for the year, but only a little. I am now 12.1 pounds shy of my official goal of 150 pounds. There be work to do.

And I promise to do that work next year. Which is in two and a half hours. Yikes.

2017: The Year in books (for me)

I read 37 books in 2017. Here are a few thoughts and stats on them.

Number of books reviewed: 37. Yes, I reviewed all of them. As the reviews were made on Goodreads using their four-star system, I couldn’t award half-stars, though sometimes I wanted to. Most were three or four stars. There were no stinkers, though a few rated two stars.

Number of paper books read: 0. Yep, I was all-digital this year. I don’t really miss reading paper books and never needing bookmarks is nice.

Every book was bought on either amazon.ca or kobo.com and almost all were on sale. I didn’t mean to keep buying only sale-priced books, but I ended up with more than I could read (I have a backlog now, though not as massive as my Steam backlog, which would require living to the age of 280 to get through) so there was little reason to buy full-priced books as they came out. I also have few authors I consider must-buys and even those I do I can wait for the prices to drop because apparently I’m cheap. I’m sorry, authors! I promise to buy more full-priced books in 2018. Possibly.

On the plus side, this approach exposed me to a lot of authors I hadn’t read before. On the negative side, there are several I am confident I will never read again. I may need to be a tad more discerning.

Genres break down like so, though some books fit into multiple genres:

Self-help/pop psychology 3
Biography 2
Horror 13
Science fiction 7
Literary fiction 2
Writing 6
Non-fiction 3
Classics 0
Fantasy 1

A few things to note this year:

I only read one Stephen King novel and it was one I’ve read before and one that isn’t considered among his first tier of work (or even second or maybe third tier, depending on who you ask)–The Tommyknockers. I had a strange desire to revisit the book, mostly for its theme of “buried UFO drives town crazy.” I agreed with King’s own assessment that inside this 700 page novel was a good 350 page novel. Cocaine is a hell of a drug.

I didn’t read any classics. I usually read one or two. I vow to do better next year.

I read more books on writing, which is ironic, given how my writing sputtered out by year’s end. Given the uneven quality of the books, I may have been better off spending the time writing.

Horror dominated, as always, mostly due to a binge toward the end of the year. Good horror can be hard to find. I will probably read any new work by Sarah Lotz.

Three of the science fiction novels dealt with time travel, alternate dimensions or both. I greatly enjoyed all three, as I’m a sucker for these themes.

The full list of books can be read under the 2017 heading found here.

Another screaming spider dream

Well, not another. But one is probably enough.

Last night I dreamed of being in a small, cluttered bedroom or spare room in some place or other. The bed was covered in sheets, blankets and bric-a-brac. I pulled aside one of the blankets or sheets and revealed a very large, circle-shaped spider sitting on the bed. Size-wise, imagine tripling the average tarantula and you have it about right. The spider was startled and skittered in its spidery way to the edge of the bed–where another spider waited. The second spider was similar in size but was differently-colored, light to the other spider’s dark. When the fleeing spider made contact with the second spider a fight broke out.

Lesson: do not disturb a spider, especially a large, circle-shaped one.

The part that made the dream stand out, though, was not the weird shape or large size of the spiders, but rather, the sound they made when they began to fight.

They screamed.

It was a high-pitched screeching. It didn’t stop. As they grappled the screaming went on, the two voices overlapping each other and sometimes blending into one super-creepy tone, on until I awoke and wondered what I ate to prompt such a dream.

I had other dreams last night, but the screaming spiders are the ones that stayed with me. I’m good without having a repeat, really. It wasn’t scary or anything, but those screams. Spiders should not make those sounds.

Run 562: Ice and fire, except instead of fire, rain

Run 562
Average pace: 5:55/km

Location: Burnaby Lake (CW)
Start: 12:19 pm
Distance: 5.07 km
Time: 30:04
Weather: Rain
Temp: 2ºC
Humidity: 95%
Wind: light to moderate
BPM: 174
Weight: 1621.4 pounds
Total distance to date: 4375 km
Devices: Apple Watch, iPhone

This run was grossbuckets. The last time I finished a 5K run with a time over 30 minutes was…never? My BPM was high (more on this in a bit) and I came home cold and soaked.

Wednesday’s run was done in light and fluffy snow. It was fine, even a little pleasant. I kept warm. My pace was slower but that’s expected, you don’t want to go dashing through the snow, Christmas carols notwithstanding, because you can slip and fall and no one writes carols about injuring yourself.

Since then it has been raining almost constantly, so much so that I expected the trail to be pretty much snow-free today.

I dressed a bit differently again, keeping the running pants but swapping out the top layers to a pair of long-sleeved shirts, since I know my running jacket is poop in the rain. I did not take gloves as I could keep the hands tucked in the longer sleeves of my red Nike shirt.

The walk to the lake was dismal and a sign of things to come. Though much of the trail was bare, the parts that weren’t consisted primarily of the crusty old snow that fell before Wednesday and had become hard and slick. In areas where it covered the trail I had to walk along the edges to get away from that “walking on an ice rink” feeling.

At the lake itself I made a tactical error by running clockwise. I did this as a change of pace but forgot that the south side of the lake is much more open than the north and this meant that large sections of the trail consisted of lumpy, frozen remnants of snow that were rather slippery. I ran along the edge of the trail where I could. I moved deliberately where I couldn’t. I walked rather than jogged on my approach to the bridge at Deer Lake Brook to prevent going splat. My feet slipped multiple times, though I stayed upright, like a fully advanced human.

Much of the run was like this, a laborious, tedious series of constant adjustments, slowing down and then speeding up on clear patches, picking through the maze-like sheets of ice-like snow, running down clear lines made by service vehicles that ended in giant puddles and having to navigate around the puddles on very slick surfaces. It felt like work, a chore. Combined with the cold and rain, my BPM edged even higher to 174.

I decided to end the miserable exercise at 5K. This run was the polar (ho ho) opposite of enjoyable and the few others I saw out “jogging” were just as foolish as I for being out there in such awful conditions.

Oh, and it also poured the entire time, too. It’s still pouring now. If I stop typing and listen carefully I can hear the neighbors assembling an ark.

The walk out of the park was almost as bad, with lots of slippery spots, but also with the bonus of walking into the cold wind for about four km.

My pace of 5:55/km is something of a miracle given how terrible the trail was. These were the worst running conditions I’ve seen in eight years and 4375+ km of running. Impressive, in a horrible sort of way.

It’s supposed to dry out over the next few days but not get much warmer. With little sun it’s unlikely the icy mess will be gone quickly, though if the forecast is off, it might not matter as the entire area will probably be underwater, anyway.

In summary: BLEAH.