The Philosophy of Raccoons

A man shows up at my door with a time machine. He tells me that I can escape the dreary weather of April by simply climbing into his contraption. 'What's the catch?', I ask. He replies that I'll just lose the remaining days in April and I'll be 18 days older. No big deal, right?

April is not my favourite month. Winter lingers, spring pauses. This morning was no different. My feet hit the cold floor, then my fingers pried apart the bedroom blinds only to see a paper white world. Snow. Damn it! Socks saved my feet from further torment and I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. That's when the knock came at my door.

I stared at the man at the door, he looked like death. Beyond him, the snow fell onto my limp ochre lawn. Freeze or melt. Freeze or melt. The snow itself was torn. The time machine sat on a trailer in my driveway, delivered behind a large black truck. Snow gathered on both the truck and trailer. I knew what had to be done, so I put on a pair of boots and walked slowly toward the time machine. It hissed and pinged and rumbled. The snow that touched its metallic surface quickly turned to tears. I touched its surface, my hand felt warm. The man opened the door and I took one step inside. I paused to daydream of May. Trees blushed green. Tulip blossoms, sweet like Skittles, danced in the wind. The sky blue sky smiled. Then my mind raced back to April.

What about the raccoon?

I ran from the time machine, my heart pounding. The man chased me back to the house but I slipped through the door and double locked it behind me. The man scowled, walked back to his truck and grudgingly left April with me.

April gave me raccoons in a tree. They were cold, wet, miserable and probably scared. I was just cold and wet. To myself I said 'suck it up, buttercup.... blossoms are in your future', and if they're not, I should at least celebrate soggy raccoons in a tree.

There will come a time when eighteen days in April will seem like the greatest gift, so why would I ever try to postpone the party?

So if you've got a time machine and you're looking for customers, don't bother knocking at my door...I'm not interested in trading the present for the future. 'Oh, what's that? Your machine can take me back to the past?' Interestingly enough, I don't think I'd give up my raccoons for another kick at the can.