Blizzards are not amenable to my sense of optimism. The snow is bad but it's not that bad. Honestly I've seen worse in New Jersey. Most of my irritation comes from the fact that I live alone and have no one I can depend upon especially because Jaybird and maribou are in Las Vegas, NV.
Here's the timeline of events for Thursday. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up and looked out the window. No snow at all. Now I didn't check the clock because clocks just cause undue stress. Had I looked at the clock, I wouldn't have been able to sleep soundly knowing "Shit, three hours and twenty eight minutes until the alarm."
7:15 rolls around and I'm out the door in fifteen minutes. The side street is unplowed but numerous cars have passed on it. The snow is coming down heavy and there's about fifty feet of visibility but downtown this is not an issue considering the low speed limit, the lack of traffic due to the storm and other criteria. By the time I'm driving up Platte and heading towards work the streets are awful, there's no visibility and I'm thinking about turning back and heading home. Instead I soldier on. I arrive at work at the usual time.
At work there's nothing but chatter about how things are only going to get worse as the day progresses. A few more people trickle into the office with horror stories of downed power lines, tree limbs and various accidents and closed off roads. Now my stress level is going up and there's nothing which can be done.
At eight thirty I head upstairs, "You know it's getting pretty bad out there and I'm concerned for everyone else in the office and not wanting to be stuck overnight." When I'm saying this, the snow's blowing really hard and the general manager says there's nothing she can do and it's up to the company's president. She lets me know that she was told people would go home at 3:00 p.m..
A half hour later it's announced that the office is closing at noon. At noon I'm out of there and inching my car out of the parking lot.
Fortunately the roads were empty and relatively clear which gave me a twinge of guilt. Only a twinge. I was home in about twenty minutes.
Needless to say I was and I'm still angry about the whole situation. Fucking dangerous roads and no visibility and people were expected to be in the office. Now I'm all anxious about tomorrow with the office being chastized as reactionary, lazy and whining by upper management. Fuck that shit.
I showed up and I did my job and kicked ass in those four hours, as usual.
That went over everyone's head.
Yet I learned something, the guy who manages some vocational training program is behind the generator. Our company didn't have it installed! Now this guy is working for the government and from what little I've seen of their operation I don't know why they'd need such a generator. Fucking tax dollars at work. Plus he has his own car with government plates. It's pretty strange and I call him O'Brien.
Still nobody got my joke.
If there's no power and you have to plug in a generator to make power, y'know?
Ah, forget about it.
In winter of 1944, with overtaxed supply lines in the Ardennes, a German medic had completely run out of plasma, bandages and antiseptic. During one particularly bad round of mortar fire, his encampment suddenly became a bloodbath. The survivors claimed to hear, above the screams and barked commands of their Lieutenant, someone cackling with almost girlish glee.
The medic made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never this short on supplies.
The bombardment moved to other ends of the line, most men dropped off to sleep in the still dark hours of the morning - New Year's Day, 1945.
The men awoke at first light with screams. They discovered that their bandages were not typical bandages at all, but hunks and strips of human flesh. Several men had been given fresh blood transfusions, with no blood supplies available. Each treated man was almost completely covered, head-to-toe, with the maroon stain of blood.
The medic was found, sitting on an ammunition tin, staring off into space. When one man approached him, tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal all skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial.
None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January, 1945.
Fortunately I received a dream from Siggy.
I was in this apartment, except it was more like I was in a future society and everything was all big-brothery. There wasn't a bed, but there was a large jacuzzi tub like my dad has that I slept in. I was sitting in the hot water with a naked Jean-Luc Picard. I was seducing him, and he said "I don't know what it is about you..."
So then we had sex.
Then it switched to me having sex with my ex-gf Raven. Then Malcolm McDowell who apparently was big brother was poking us with a stick with a metal tip. Not to get us to stop having sex, but because he thought it was funny. So then they transferred Raven to another room so that we couldn't have sex which left me heartbroken and crying.
I was sitting alone in the tub, afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, I pulled the blinds open and we were in London. My new roommate came in and it was this REALLY fat UGLY chick, and I was pissed off and sad that my roommate wasn't someone I wanted to have sex with. Suddenly it was the middle of the night, I wanted to go out, but apparently was new to this community becaused I asked about the rules to find out if I could go for a walk.
I was informed that I could, but it was almost sunrise, and if I weren't back by then, I'd be killed. So I was smoking a cig, and a letter came through the door, and it was Malcolm McDowell being really sadistic.
But I don't remember what exactly the letter said.
I got up for work, but the dream seemed like it was going to last a lot longer.
