I live near Raleigh, NC, home of this:
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| Snowmageddon 2014 When snow happens, adorable southerners need to stay indoors and get the heck off the roads. |
Monday night, there was another winter storm. Schools were cancelled, businesses were cancelled.
The South was, in fact, cancelled.
All the adorable southerners cheered for joy and immediately went outside to play in the 1/8 inch of snow that had accumulated on the ground (which would soon be covered by a layer of ice that is actually no joke) . I just thanked God I was able to get off the roads before the wintry mix started, and I crawled into my cave to await death.
This, my friends, might be my last blog post.
I have decided to document my final days, just in case anyone survives to read it. You'll know of my bravery in the face of being stuck inside a heated house with functioning electricity, warm water, plenty of food, books, movies, and the internet at my fingertips...oh! and getting time off work, to boot.
Remember our courage, friends. Remember and rebuild.
My friends, I give you:
The SnowIcemageddon 2015 Diaries:
Day 1, 7:55 a.m.
My alarm goes off. I awake. I check my messages to see if I am required to watch anyone's kids. Nothing. I see it as a sign that I am not meant to brave the ice and snow, and I burrow back down beneath my covers. I wonder if I will ever emerge again. I slip back into dreamless slumber. Sleep is the only release from the anticipation of spending hours upon hours trapped in this place.
Sleep is the only release.
Day 1, 8:59
I brace myself and look out the window. I am shocked to find that my back yard has been covered by a thin blanket of icy whiteness that is nearly identical to all of the photos my friends have been sharing on the Facebook of their own back yards. All snow-covered back yards look the same! This must be a conspiracy of some sort. I blame Obama.
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| This is what my backyard looks like. This is what your backyard looks like. This is what everyone's stupid backyard looks like. THANKS, SNOWBAMA! |
Day 1, 9:07 a.m.
I hunger. I emerge from my room and reheat a cup of day old coffee. Only then do I realize that I am almost out of organic Half and Half, and I neglected to buy another carton while I was at the store buying "pre-snow produce." I am so distraught that I forget to eat.
At least I did not go to the store for bread and milk.
In that thought alone, I am comforted.
At least I did not go to the store for bread and milk.
In that thought alone, I am comforted.
Day 1, 9:15 a.m.
The toilet seat is cold, and I am numb.
Day 1, 10:18 a.m.
I emerge from the cave in search of nourishment, once again. There is a talkative roommate in the food room. Like a bear, I decide to respond to her loud "I love snow" happiness with grunts and soft growls of disinterest. Unlike a bear, I decide not to eat her face off.
I consume a handful of almonds instead.
Life goes on.
Day 1, 11:02 a.m.
Hours into Icemageddon, and I literally can't even because I am literally so bored I am about to literally die the death. Literally.
I'm so bored that I resort to cleaning.
Day 1, 12:12 p.m.
Hope is renewed! Today is a gift! I have time to do all the things I have never had time to do!
I procrastinate by putting together a playlist of songs that will be the soundtrack to help me accomplish the things I never have time to do.
I don't actually accomplish the things I never have time to do.
I don't actually accomplish the things I never have time to do.
Day 1, 1:09 p.m.
I diffuse happy organic essential oils to help lighten the mood. It only serves as a bitter reminder of warmer days, sunshine, and the things I cannot have.
The struggle is real.
The struggle is real.
Day 1, 2:34 p.m.
There is a pain in my stomach, an emptiness. I find it strange and unsettling. Death must be near. Yet I realize, after some thought on the matter, that I must be hungry, but I can't, for the life of me, think of why. It has not been that long since I have consumed sustenance. I look at the clock and ponder this, only to find that it has indeed been some time since I have eaten. I have lost all sense of time. I have lost all sense of reality. I fear that I will go insane.
I will eat. I will carry on. I will survive.
I will eat. I will carry on. I will survive.
Day 1, 4:06 p.m.
My friends keep posting puns from the movie "Frozen" on the Facebook. I am dying inside.
I decide to let it go.
Day 1, 5:08 p.m.
I learn school is cancelled another day due to icy road conditions.
This makes me want to weep and then die.
Day 1, 6:42 p.m.
I make cauliflower cheese "bread" for dinner.
I realize that I am now guilty of purchasing ingredients to make "bread" in anticipation of snow. And there is milk in the cheese I bought.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I did it.
I went to the store for bread and milk.
Day 1, 7:57 p.m.
I decide to make comfort food--grain-free peanut butter cookies. I eat the whole batch, but I find no comfort in them. Instead, I gain 73 pounds and die from The Beetus.
But not really.
Sigh.
There is no relief.
Day 1, 8:12 p.m.
I check the weather forecast for the next few days.
I want my mommy.
Day 1, 9:32 p.m.
I receive a text. I am expected to try to come into work tomorrow afternoon, if I can manage it. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps it is only the light that comes when one is electrocuted when one's car slips on the ice and rams into a telephone pole, but I will try to remain positive. I mean, chances are, I won't even be able to get my car out of the driveway.
...if my car even starts...
Day 1, 11:12 p.m.
I return to the cave and to the burrow of blankets, once again to succumb to the sweet release of sleep.
I dream about icicles.
Those things have been known to kill people.
Day 2, 8:25 a.m.
I awake. I remember. I cry.
Day 2, 8:48 a.m.
I pour myself a hot cup of coffee.
Alas, there is no more Half and Half, but on the bright side, I can flavor my coffee with my own desperation and tears.
Day 2, 10:01 a.m.
I venture outside. It is not warm.
I think I see a polar bear.
Day 2, 10:02 a.m.
There is ice everywhere, everywhere ice. I walk like a penguin to avoid slipping and spraining my next of kin. I imagine that I am cute and fluffy like a baby penguin, learning to walk upon the frozen tundra for the first time. In reality:
Day 2, 10:04 a.m.
On the third attempt, my frozen car reluctantly starts. There is a God.
Day 2, 10:05 a.m.
I begin the arduous process of thawing my car. Much like the ice that so adamantly adheres to my windshield, I am stalwart and unyielding in my task. My task involves sitting inside the car with the defrost on high, waiting...waiting...waiting....
Day 2, 10:36 a.m.
I have achieved visibility from all windows in my car. This is both good and bad. It is good because now I can see through the windows. It is bad because it means that I must now attempt to drive it somewhere. Good thing I started early. My car is clean, at least on the outside.
Now all I have to do is go back into my cave and await the inevitable doom. I drink more coffee and tears.
Day 2, 11:30 a.m.
I finally venture out of my driveway, praying the entire time that I will not lose control of my car and skid into oncoming traffic.
The roads are mostly clear. I feel silly for worrying. I make it to work safely.
Day 2, 3:45 p.m.
The sunshine disappears and flurries begin as I drive a kid to her indoor soccer practice. I begin to wonder if I will be stranded at said practice until April.
Day 2, 4:07 p.m.
The dad of the girls I watch calls to let me know he is arranging transportation for his daughter, so that I can leave before the snow really begins to start. For that, I am grateful.
Day 2, 4:20 p.m.
I make it home safely. Then I realize I will most likely be stuck here until the end of time.
I want to check the mail before burrowing back into my cave. I am afraid to walk on the driveway, so my roommate braves the icy tundra in my stead. There is no mail. Her sacrifice is for naught. Also, she is eaten by a polar bear.
I return to my cave and quietly contemplate my cowardice.
Day 2, 5:33 p.m.
...I come to the sudden and unfortunate realization that I neglected to buy more Half and Half while I was out earlier...
...
...
...
Day 2, 6:02 p.m.
The roommates all go out to play in the snow, shouting like children on Christmas morning.
I warn them that we are all going to die, but they choose to greet their doom with cheers of joy.
There is no sanity left in the world. We will probably resort to cannibalism by morning, if the polar bears don't eat us first.
Day 2, 10:04 p.m.
I learn that school has been cancelled for the third day in a row.
I skip the crying and go straight to the maniacal laughter.
Day 2, 11:45 p.m.
I burrow under my covers and just decide to go ahead and hibernate until the Fourth of July.
Day 3, 8:47 a.m.
My body will not let me hibernate, despite all my efforts. I rise to fight another day like a brave little soldier.
I do not want to be a brave little soldier.
Day 3, 10:02 a.m.
I learn, according to friends' statuses on the Facebook, and ya know, looking out my own window, that the snow and ice isn't really that bad at all. None of the snow from the previous night accumulated! Could it be that Icemageddon is over??? Did I survive? Does this mean I won't be having "roommate arm sandwiches" for lunch?!?
I break out into celebratory song. The first thing that pops into my head:
...I'm in childcare.
Day 3, 10:15 a.m.
I do what any red-blooded 'Murican survivor of the Icemageddon would do, and decide to go to the Walmart.
Day 3, 11:02 a.m.
The Walmart is like an episode of The Walking Dead.
I fight for my life.
Day 3, 11:47 a.m.
I make it home safely, and have not been turned into a zombie. Awesomesauce.
Day 3, 12:26 p.m.
I realize I forgot the Half and Half.
My friends keep posting puns from the movie "Frozen" on the Facebook. I am dying inside.
I decide to let it go.
Day 1, 5:08 p.m.
I learn school is cancelled another day due to icy road conditions.
This makes me want to weep and then die.
Day 1, 6:42 p.m.
I make cauliflower cheese "bread" for dinner.
I realize that I am now guilty of purchasing ingredients to make "bread" in anticipation of snow. And there is milk in the cheese I bought.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I did it.
I went to the store for bread and milk.
Day 1, 7:57 p.m.
I decide to make comfort food--grain-free peanut butter cookies. I eat the whole batch, but I find no comfort in them. Instead, I gain 73 pounds and die from The Beetus.
But not really.
Sigh.
There is no relief.
Day 1, 8:12 p.m.
I check the weather forecast for the next few days.
I want my mommy.
Day 1, 9:32 p.m.
I receive a text. I am expected to try to come into work tomorrow afternoon, if I can manage it. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps it is only the light that comes when one is electrocuted when one's car slips on the ice and rams into a telephone pole, but I will try to remain positive. I mean, chances are, I won't even be able to get my car out of the driveway.
...if my car even starts...
Day 1, 11:12 p.m.
I return to the cave and to the burrow of blankets, once again to succumb to the sweet release of sleep.
I dream about icicles.
Those things have been known to kill people.
Day 2, 8:25 a.m.
I awake. I remember. I cry.
Day 2, 8:48 a.m.
I pour myself a hot cup of coffee.
Alas, there is no more Half and Half, but on the bright side, I can flavor my coffee with my own desperation and tears.
Day 2, 10:01 a.m.
I venture outside. It is not warm.
I think I see a polar bear.
Day 2, 10:02 a.m.
There is ice everywhere, everywhere ice. I walk like a penguin to avoid slipping and spraining my next of kin. I imagine that I am cute and fluffy like a baby penguin, learning to walk upon the frozen tundra for the first time. In reality:
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Day 2, 10:03 a.m.
I can't get my car door open. It is frozen solid. Everything is hard.
I manage to get in through the passenger side. When I do get it open, I can't actually get into the car because my feet have no traction. I am in eminent danger of slipping beneath the car and most likely being eaten by a Grue. I wonder how it is possible that I am SO NERDY that I choose such a moment to make a very vague reference to a text-based adventure game from the 1980s.
I use my pathetic upper body strength to somehow pull myself into the car to safety. I take a deep breath. I realize how much trash I have on this side of the car. Seriously. I'm a slob.
Day 2, 10:04 a.m.
On the third attempt, my frozen car reluctantly starts. There is a God.
Day 2, 10:05 a.m.
I begin the arduous process of thawing my car. Much like the ice that so adamantly adheres to my windshield, I am stalwart and unyielding in my task. My task involves sitting inside the car with the defrost on high, waiting...waiting...waiting....
Day 2, 10:36 a.m.
I have achieved visibility from all windows in my car. This is both good and bad. It is good because now I can see through the windows. It is bad because it means that I must now attempt to drive it somewhere. Good thing I started early. My car is clean, at least on the outside.
Now all I have to do is go back into my cave and await the inevitable doom. I drink more coffee and tears.
Day 2, 11:30 a.m.
I finally venture out of my driveway, praying the entire time that I will not lose control of my car and skid into oncoming traffic.
The roads are mostly clear. I feel silly for worrying. I make it to work safely.
Day 2, 3:45 p.m.
The sunshine disappears and flurries begin as I drive a kid to her indoor soccer practice. I begin to wonder if I will be stranded at said practice until April.
Day 2, 4:07 p.m.
The dad of the girls I watch calls to let me know he is arranging transportation for his daughter, so that I can leave before the snow really begins to start. For that, I am grateful.
Day 2, 4:20 p.m.
I make it home safely. Then I realize I will most likely be stuck here until the end of time.
I want to check the mail before burrowing back into my cave. I am afraid to walk on the driveway, so my roommate braves the icy tundra in my stead. There is no mail. Her sacrifice is for naught. Also, she is eaten by a polar bear.
I return to my cave and quietly contemplate my cowardice.
Day 2, 5:33 p.m.
...I come to the sudden and unfortunate realization that I neglected to buy more Half and Half while I was out earlier...
...
...
...
Day 2, 6:02 p.m.
The roommates all go out to play in the snow, shouting like children on Christmas morning.
I warn them that we are all going to die, but they choose to greet their doom with cheers of joy.
There is no sanity left in the world. We will probably resort to cannibalism by morning, if the polar bears don't eat us first.
Day 2, 10:04 p.m.
I learn that school has been cancelled for the third day in a row.
I skip the crying and go straight to the maniacal laughter.
Day 2, 11:45 p.m.
I burrow under my covers and just decide to go ahead and hibernate until the Fourth of July.
Day 3, 8:47 a.m.
My body will not let me hibernate, despite all my efforts. I rise to fight another day like a brave little soldier.
I do not want to be a brave little soldier.
Day 3, 10:02 a.m.
I learn, according to friends' statuses on the Facebook, and ya know, looking out my own window, that the snow and ice isn't really that bad at all. None of the snow from the previous night accumulated! Could it be that Icemageddon is over??? Did I survive? Does this mean I won't be having "roommate arm sandwiches" for lunch?!?
I break out into celebratory song. The first thing that pops into my head:
...I'm in childcare.
Day 3, 10:15 a.m.
I do what any red-blooded 'Murican survivor of the Icemageddon would do, and decide to go to the Walmart.
Day 3, 11:02 a.m.
The Walmart is like an episode of The Walking Dead.
I fight for my life.
Day 3, 11:47 a.m.
I make it home safely, and have not been turned into a zombie. Awesomesauce.
Day 3, 12:26 p.m.
I realize I forgot the Half and Half.
