So… I had this big long story planned out in my head all last week, and I kept adding onto it as a new catastrophe occurred (daily), and I was going to tell you all about it in great length and detail with full-fledged conversations and witty asides.
But now that it’s all over I’m kind of too exhausted and also I never want to re-live last week ever again, even through writing it down. History can go jump off a cliff. It will take all my energy to tell the story of last week just once to my future grandchildren. And they probably won’t be able to hear me, because of the iWhatevers that were surgically implanted into their brains at birth. Or else they’ll be out of earshot, off in the woods shooting squirrels through the eye. (That was a Hunger Games reference, Mom.)
Basically, the Pre-Apocalypse (as it shall henceforth be called) started with the power going out– and then every catastrophe that could have happened. The power stayed out for a week, during which I stayed at the DHFs’ (you know, now that it’s just Bug there, I guess could just say I stayed at Bug’s) “indefinitely” and at the House of the Vegas Grandparents for a while, too– considering that by the third day of no power, we could see our breath in the house. BUT I AM NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT THAT. No more. I am sick of thinking about it!!!!! Hence the overuse of exclamation points and the shouty caps-lock.
The only thing that restored me in the Pre-Apocalyptic aftermath was…
Yep, the first thing I did with my newly restored power was to plug in my CD player (aka the crummiest machine known to man– but it only skips on songs I don’t like, so maybe it simply shares my indubitably excellent taste?) and jam to Beatles music. And by “jam” I mean I danced madly as I unpacked all my stuff, all of which seemed to have multiplied like loaves and fishes. Except for my clothes. I mean, come on. Throw me a bone, here. A matching pair of socks. Anything.
The other day I was planning my Eighteenth Birthday Extravaganza (just kidding– I would never in a million zillion years, or “over the rainbow, far away, over the ocean blue and a bird will fly you there” as Poncho would say– have anything resembling an “extravaganza”, a word which makes me think of sparkles and, well, I stop thinking there before I upchuck) and anyway, the point is that I was trying to plan something for my birthday, but I got sidetracked and instead made a list of every Beatles song that I like so far.
There are thirty-eight.
I am trying to expand my musical horizons, I swear. Especially because I really, really need a playlist for a story I’d like to work on. Other stories, I can put on the same old Pink Floyd songs and go with it. But this one… It’s demanding. It wants a Shakespeare play and its very own soundtrack. It’s quite a precocious little thing.
(I know I sound weird now– just be glad I don’t have mental conversations with the characters, okay?) (Never mind. Mine does sound weirder than that, even. Because characters are like– like, if they take on a mind of their own, it’s because you made them so real in the story that they just have to act a certain way, even if it’s not what you originally intended. They have to take the path that would actually be true to the character you invented. But the story itself telling you things? That just plain don’t make sense.)
But at any rate, I just love the Beatles. They just sound… cool.
(I had a lot more to say on that, but…)
I just wanted to write a post to let you know I’m still alive. I actually have a bunch of stuff to do now, namely the finishing off of manuscripts for writer’s group tomorrow. Also the writing of a poem.
Also the mad dancing to the music that makes me happy.