Blasphemous

I skipped a shower this morning to get out of the house on time- just as the snow stopped falling. I was greeted by particularly fresh, cold air, corpse gray skies, and a half inch of pure, untouched snow. I dipped the bottoms of my boots in. Mmm, snow. I crunched out into the world.

Oh how beautiful it all was. Oh the delicacy and freshness and good intent of the world! My heart rejoiced and filled with a song that no music-

Then I slipped. 

I didn't fall. My arms didn't wheel about hilariously. It was more like my body jerked in a panic and my leg, the one opposite to the one slipping, slammed down into the ground to compensate, to catch and balance me. It was very unpleasant.

"Fucking shit goddamnit sodding asshole." I said, with feeling.

Who was I talking to there? Probably god. I was probably talking to god.

I tested my next step. It was still slippery. I hobbled on it to more sure ground and continued along. The footing was 95 percent perfectly fine, but then there were little isolated patches of freakishly slippery ice, fiendishly camouflaged under an innocent and fluffy dusting of snow. So mostly I just walked singing the praises of the lord until the near catastrophic injury moments where I hated his guts. 

It is said we create god in our own image. Voltaire said it, George Carlin, me. 

If this is so I'd just like to know what I'm up to.