Fallout

As I write this it’s 15° F outside (that’s -9.4° C, which makes it sound even colder). If God ever intended days for staying inside with hot coffee and a blazing fire, this is one of them. The last three, in fact. We got about 18 inches of snow over the weekend. I haven’t been outside my house since Friday afternoon, and it’s driving me nuts.

Which naturally brings me to the subject of total thermonuclear war.

Sometimes I wonder whether I’d be able to spend my life in a bunker making music. If I had to, could I seal myself in a room with life’s essentials (internet, coffee, 2 cans of spray cheese, and clean underwear) and somehow survive? Part of me doubts that. Even if there were a window where I could gaze out at the gracefully falling radioactive particles. I’m pretty sure by day twelve I’d be smearing spray cheese all over myself, setting my piano on fire, and dancing around it like an aborigine.

So let it snow, for up to and including eleven days. After that I’m going to need a ticket to somewhere warmer.

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