Phil Marsupialtuxedo has a blog now, which is nice, since he had started to blogjack other people’s via their comments, and something was going to have to be done about it. In a previous entry he mentioned he would be writing his one-year reminiscences of the big ice storm that shut down the Triangle, most of North Carolina, and probably some places I don’t care about. My first thought was, “Oh, great. Why would I want to read about that? I lived through it and it was a total pain in the neck” But he did a pretty good job. His picturesque description of chopping ice with a Chinese cleaver to melt in a Japanese tub has actually made me nostalgic for the week I spent without power in a 40-degree house.
Maybe I focus too much on the negative here at Fistful of Plooble. Maybe I would be happier, and help make the world a better place, if I too could see the beauty to be found all around us, even in moments of adversity. With that in mind, here are my memories of the ice storm.
The soft grey light filtered in through the blinds as I awoke on Day Seven to find my house still enveloped in the tranquility of powerlessness. Clouds of steam swirled about my head as I yawned and stretched, recoiling as my hand touched the metal bedstead, lest it stick there. Hastings roused himself slowly, squinted his eyes, then dug his claws into my chest in terror when he realized I intended to get out of bed. Stuffing him back under the covers, I stood up, wearing everything I owned, and waddled into the bathroom, passing the shower, unused for a week. I drew a deep breath and filled my lungs with crisp, bracing air mixed with the warm, heady aroma of sweatpant and ass. How peaceful, I thought. How calm it is to be released from the tyranny of power, the yoke of electricity, and return to a more honest, natural state of … itching… constantly… all over. Later, opening a can of mackerel for breakfast and settling down to read a book by goddamn candlelight, I smiled at the simplicity…
Oh, never mind.