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The Coming Storm
Jan. 22nd, 2026 09:58 amOkay! Based on doomscrolling through myriad weather reports, I can confidently predict that we will be getting anywhere from 1 and 145 inches of snow starting on Sunday, that the electricity will go out while the outside temps hover at 10° F, that I will die of hypothermia in my own bed, and that the kiskas will nibble my corpse.
If there was anywhere to run to, I'd run.
But there isn't.
My only consolation is that they say hypothermia is a very peaceful way to die. After you get cold, you feel oddly serene, you grow sleepy.
###
Today, I'm gonna put together an emergency kit: two flashlights, batteries, fully charged phone, full charged power bank, three gallons of water (the well here is on an electric pump), non-perishable food items (peanut butter, canned tuna, Pepperidge Farm goldfish, etc), manual can opener, thyroid meds—what else?
Need to spray some kind of oil on my car door's weather stripping, too, to minimize the risk that those doors will freeze shut. Olive oil will actually work, but I think I'm gonna go to the auto parts store & get lanolin-based Fluid Film.
Also, I have to get a wireless keyboard similar to a desktop computer's clunky black keyboard. At this point, my main challenge with tax preparation is not tax law but data entry. I've watched Rose do three returns now; she keys in all the numbers using her right hand & the right numeric keyboard. This is something I have never done because I only use laptop models at home. Proficiency at this would double my efficiency.
###
On the Universe, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me? front: Justine & the collective house in Trumansburg resurfaced this week in a FB posting. I immediately private-messaged her: Still interested! Posted a public message: I PMed you, which she pinged with a pink love heart.
And then, last night, I noticed my public message had been deleted & somehow—I didn't even know you could do this!—my private message had been deleted.
I've been ghosted!
And that hurt my feelings terribly.
It is certainly your right to decide I am not a good fit for your collective. But why not just tell me? Why humiliate me by pretending that I don't exist?
Combined with my intense social isolation, financial worries, & the pending storm, this made for a stressful evening.
Resilience is the name of the game, & my mantra is ever, You do not live in Gaza, you do not live in sub-Saharan Africa, you do not live in...
But honestly, all this is hard.
This has been a very tough winter.
It will be better in the spring because it is always better in the spring.
###
In Work In Progress news, I'm 500 words into Chapter 5—phone conversation with Neal in which he chides Grazia for her growing intimacy with the New Millennium Kingdom cult and meditation on personal vs. impersonal friendships.
Next up, we must segue back to a Grazia/Debbie Reynolds convo where Debbie Reynolds talks about death, and then Debbie Reynolds appears in the ICU where Grazia takes care of her & she eventually dies. A thousand words? We'll see.
If there was anywhere to run to, I'd run.
But there isn't.
My only consolation is that they say hypothermia is a very peaceful way to die. After you get cold, you feel oddly serene, you grow sleepy.
###
Today, I'm gonna put together an emergency kit: two flashlights, batteries, fully charged phone, full charged power bank, three gallons of water (the well here is on an electric pump), non-perishable food items (peanut butter, canned tuna, Pepperidge Farm goldfish, etc), manual can opener, thyroid meds—what else?
Need to spray some kind of oil on my car door's weather stripping, too, to minimize the risk that those doors will freeze shut. Olive oil will actually work, but I think I'm gonna go to the auto parts store & get lanolin-based Fluid Film.
Also, I have to get a wireless keyboard similar to a desktop computer's clunky black keyboard. At this point, my main challenge with tax preparation is not tax law but data entry. I've watched Rose do three returns now; she keys in all the numbers using her right hand & the right numeric keyboard. This is something I have never done because I only use laptop models at home. Proficiency at this would double my efficiency.
###
On the Universe, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me? front: Justine & the collective house in Trumansburg resurfaced this week in a FB posting. I immediately private-messaged her: Still interested! Posted a public message: I PMed you, which she pinged with a pink love heart.
And then, last night, I noticed my public message had been deleted & somehow—I didn't even know you could do this!—my private message had been deleted.
I've been ghosted!
And that hurt my feelings terribly.
It is certainly your right to decide I am not a good fit for your collective. But why not just tell me? Why humiliate me by pretending that I don't exist?
Combined with my intense social isolation, financial worries, & the pending storm, this made for a stressful evening.
Resilience is the name of the game, & my mantra is ever, You do not live in Gaza, you do not live in sub-Saharan Africa, you do not live in...
But honestly, all this is hard.
This has been a very tough winter.
It will be better in the spring because it is always better in the spring.
###
In Work In Progress news, I'm 500 words into Chapter 5—phone conversation with Neal in which he chides Grazia for her growing intimacy with the New Millennium Kingdom cult and meditation on personal vs. impersonal friendships.
Next up, we must segue back to a Grazia/Debbie Reynolds convo where Debbie Reynolds talks about death, and then Debbie Reynolds appears in the ICU where Grazia takes care of her & she eventually dies. A thousand words? We'll see.
