My hidden Rebel Fortress is about 10 miles from Kirkland, Washington, the epicenter of America’s Fun New Crisis. As there are several people in my life that fall into vulnerable categories, I’ve spent the week since my birthday in a self-imposed isolation, broken only to gather essentials from the general store down in the valley, and to fend off horde incursions.
This is a great time to get creative. In theory. In practical application, so far, it’s been a great time to bite it repeatedly on the final level of Cuphead while plotting the logistics of my next supply mission.
Anyone who has been eager to binge some new series, now is a great time to just watch the same episodes of Law and Order: SVU over and over again while you hurl obscenities at Photoshop trying to get a set of filters to work.
The rest of the country is two days in to our super fun, nation-wide staycation, and nearly half of my active Facebook feed is talking about getting a cat. To which I say, I would also like a cat. Let’s all get cats.
As long as I don’t let Executive Dysfunction do me in, this could be my Walden. Thoreau’s mother made him sandwiches and did his laundry – I’m pretty sure the GrubHub guy won’t mind if I accidentally yell “Thanks, Mom!” as he’s driving away.
Ever since we found out that toilet paper could be mixed with simple household ingredients to synthesize rare earth metals, I have noticed a shortage of it around my house, and my mountain. Fred Meyer insists that they’ve moved it while they’re renovating, but I think they’re just keeping it for themselves. At any rate, it’s time to figure out those seashells.
I have a lot to post in the next few days, including my much touted, long awaited MadonnaCon Art Show, and the debut of Off The Spectrum Theater, (a project that’s going to require some logistical re-configuring going forward), but I’m still swearing at my laptop, and making sure we have enough grain and oats to make it through the spring.