Attack! of the Killer Weblog

I love how, on news programs, there's always talk of the Giant Ice Storm Blanketing the Midwest!, as though this kind of thing never happens. As though we aren't used to insane weather patterns. As though it wasn't sixty degrees last week, and by Monday it was sleeting so hard windshields were re-freezing as one drove through the storm.

Not that I had that problem. Hurph. Hurph.

No, the drive from my job to my house is mercifully short, and I made it back with a minimum of personal damage. Didn't see a single person out on the road, because no one else was as much a moron as I was. And when the sweetie made the trek across town from his job a bare hour later, it took him close to 45 minutes to make what is normally a five-minute drive.

It's now Day 3 of our internment in the house, and all told it hasn't been bad. We've had power, phones, heat, food, water, internet, craft projects. (I made a stunning ornament from some Van Gogh prints and a little glue. If I'd only had some purple glitter!) Plenty to keep ourselves occupied. Plenty to keep our minds off the intermittent snow showers and status of our coffee situation. (Flatlining.) Blake's return to work is imminent, but not mine--the office is without power, so there isn't much use trying to get down there. Especially since there's a security gate, and without power, it won't open. So it's another day of internet surfing, Netflix watching, and writing. At least while Blake was here, it was easier to forget that we were essentially stuck inside the house. Seriously, it's almost impossible to walk outside--the lawn and stairs and walkway are coated in at least an inch of solid ice.

But the view from the window, it's amazing. Breathtaking. I've taken pictures and have not uploaded them yet--lazy! Actually I can't find the cable, because I haven't looked. Although I did finally go through the last three boxes that were still packed from our move. Six months ago. Ahem.

I'm telling you. Super-productive, that's been me these last couple days. Perhaps I'll be able to carry this over into my daily life and not spend so much time staring blankly at episodes of The Venture Brothers from my position on the couch. Who knows, it's been a week of miracles already. One more can't hurt.

Posted by mb at 10:20 AM | Permalink

The days blend together, so many tangles of memory and thought that I am hard pressed to distinguish them. I have myself halfway convinced that this is a fine way to be. That adulthood is about realizing adolescent dreams of happiness and contentedness in one's life are just that, dreams, and have no bearing on the real world. Last night I dreamed I was playing a video game that was more fun than any game I'd played before, and that game doesn't exist outside my own head. See. It's all the same. And I'm being melodramatic at a time when I have so much to be happy about.

A good friend told me yesterday that I'm earthy--connected with the land in ways I am loath to admit. Also that my sense of humor tends to the mildly coarse ... my great dream is to one day live deep in a forest where I can be surrounded by trees and plants and animals that I can subsist in harmony with ... um ... I'm learning to fish, hunt, trap, tell poisonous plants from nutritious, tasty animals from those not worth the struggle, tour the woods with a sharper eye for industry ... ahem. Means nothing. Right?

Regardless--there's snow outside, melting lackadaisically and smirking at me from the more shadowy regions of our yard. I hate to watch snow melt. All that cool white, so peaceful and insulating, disappearing back into the ground, which gets muddier and more sullen as the winter strays into spring. Ugh. I used to think I ought instead to spend my time living in a clime without seasons, but I never have gotten around to that. Maybe this mild depression is linked to seasonal change, maybe it's not. And somehow I think that if it isn't, and I've spent the time and effort to get to a new place, well--I'd feel like an idiot, and that is the one thing that is not allowed. Not that I don't feel like an idiot most of the time, and it gives me agonies. So there.

Not sure where the point has been buried, in this bit, but maybe the point is acorn-like, and a mighty oak shall henceforth spring, a hundred years from now. Or it might get run over by a lawn mower. Gosh, I'm cheery tonight.

Posted by mb at 7:55 PM | Permalink