We can’t see out our windows, as wind is constantly blowing snow against the screens. This makes the blizzard infinitely more frightening, if you ask me. And I keep hearing horror stories. My husband’s co-worker’s neighbor house burned to the ground since the street hadn’t been plowed and the firetrucks couldn’t get in or find a hydrant. We had the fire trucks here yesterday to check out a strong gas smell on the street. Scary, huh?
Even the dogs seem to realize there’s something up. Rio has been looking out at the snow all morning with a mix of horror and fascination. She isn’t bothering me to go on her usual walk. She knows it’s not happening. Probably until June.
I worry that I didn’t buy enough food last time I was at the store. I wish I’d picked up some chicken instead of just milk and eggs and bread. It’s times like these that I realize how spoiled I am by having a grocery store down the street. Let’s just say that I now know how I’d fare in the zombie apocalypse, and the answer is: not very well. (SB finds all jokes about eating Rio distasteful, so I’ll refrain from making one here.)
Anyway, I’m hungry, and the toast and jam is all the way across the room, which may be leading to my highly inappropriate canine consumption references. Rest assured, we have plenty of food. So does Rio. I also have this signed book contract sitting here, and it might as well be burning a hole in my desk. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get out of here. I don’t know when the mail will be able to get out of here. And you know, being a highly neurotic writer, I live in fear that until that countersigned contract and check is in my hot little hands, my editor still has the option to call me up and go “Psych! Ha! You thought we wanted two more books from you? Silly writer!”
Did I mention the hunger? Excuse me, I’m going to get my toast. Back in a sec.
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