I give up. Winter wins. I’m done shovelling snow.

Call it March fatigue — even if March is still a couple of days away. It happens around this time every year. I — and, no doubt, many others — get so sick of the white stuff that we just throw up our hands and say, “let it melt by itself.”

So what if I won’t be able to access my deck until May or June. I’ll find somewhere else to soak up the spring rays.

But why, ‘o why, didn’t I move to California when I had the chance as a teen? (Kicking myself again and again and again.) Beverly Hills is more my style — in the winter, at least. I could have been, no, I would have been a rich and famous movie star a long time ago, and I could have visited the Laurentians of Quebec in the summertime — after black fly season, of course.

There is a reason why California has more residents than the whole of Canada combined: snow.

And there is a reason why, in normal years, many retired Canadians head to warmer climes like Florida, California and Arizona.

It’s snowing outside my window again today. It’s postcard pretty — if you’re looking at it on a postcard.

Lightbulb moment: Maybe I should get (back) into being a BDSM domina and order my willing subs to shovel off the deck.

Doh! Quebec is in lockdown mode, with an 8 p.m. curfew. We’re not allowed to mingle outside of our “bubble.”

A sketch of Jillian Page wearing gold mask and boots with flogger, for artists’ workshop on body acceptance in Montreal on April 27, 2014. P.S. The artist took liberties with my thighs: they have never been that wide, though I wouldn’t object if they were. (Photo of sketch by Jillian Page)

Still, she’s thinking, La Domina doesn’t have to have contact with said subs. I could reward them with a good flogging at a later date, when such contact is permissible again.

Now, honestly, I didn’t intend to talk about BDSM in this post — and my days of being worshipped by adoring subs (sigh, I miss them).

There’s nothing like being buried alive by snow to get one’s mind wandering, eh? Maybe I could turn my mountain residence into a BDSM retreat. Hmm . . . I wonder how my g/f would feel about that.

As you can see, I have a serious case of cabin fever, perhaps more so than usual since I have been working from home for a year now — and I’m not allowed to play with anyone except said g/f.

This set would do. By the time my drum sticks have hit every drum and cymbal, the snow might be gone. Nah. Wishful thinking. The snow will never go away. (Photo: Holym/Wikipedia)

I’ve even been thinking of taking up the drums again and treating my neighbours to daily workout sessions. Believe me, playing the drums is good exercise. I simply queue up some music on my smartphone, plug in my headphones, and I’m a drummer in several rock bands (a more serious post for another day).

The hard thing for people forced to endure a drummer’s practice sessions is that they can’t hear the music playing in my headphones. All they hear is the drumming.

There is a reason why drummers are not always the most popular people in their neighbourhoods. But on the bright side, after a month of driving my neighbours crazy, I could probably get three times the going rate for my home if I were to put it on the market. Hey, I suspect I would be getting unsolicited offers without listing it with a real-estate agent.

Back to winter, and you can see what it is doing to my mind.

I need a knight in shining California armour to come rescue me and take me to Beverly Hills. Yes, I would happily flog them when we get there, if they so desire. Or do a Wipeout drum solo for them.

O Romeo, Romeo, (or Juliet, Juliet,) wherefore art thou Romeo (or Juliet)?

— Jillian