The good life

I've decided to stop complaining about the weather. I'm sure you can figure out why. What's a few raindrops, compared to what Superstorm Sandy wrought this week on the east coast. No more whining from me. My life is good.

So what if my feet are cold. At least I have electricity, even if the electric baseboard heaters do a crappy job of heating this apartment. No complaints from me. I can always put my socks in the microwave, right? (Is that possible? Will they catch fire? Hmmm. Fire extinguisher at the ready, please stand by.) I'm ashamed to say, I take electricity for granted. What a miracle.

I also can walk out my door and find my car not submerged in five feet of toxic waste water. How cool is that? Truly, my life is blessed. No, I'm not joking. So what if I step in dog poop, left by the abysmally productive little dog that moved in next door. At least the walkway isn't underwater. I could see the path, and the poop, if it weren't so dark back there at night. I try to remember to carry my flashlight from the car to the house, but sometimes I forget. Luckily, I have clean, running water with which to wash my shoes. Life is good, seriously.

And so what if I am mired in the longest running higher education nightmare of my sorry-ass life. Luxury problem! I have electricity to power a computer, a light, a printer... too bad it doesn't power my brain, too, but hey, no complaints. Light and heat never seemed so wonderful to me until this week.

Every time I reflect on my charmed life, my next thought is always, What could possibly go wrong? Well, let's see. I live on the buttside of an extinct volcano, which means flooding has a statistical likelihood of zero. But fire? Now, fire could be a problem. Wind-whipped fire climbs hillsides fast, devouring everything in its path. If a fire got started, after the big earthquake that is coming soon, for instance, and we happened to be having a windstorm, which we do get occasionally, well, you could kiss the Love Shack good-bye. Whoosh. All that would be left the next day would be the smoldering concrete foundation.

Well, it's probably more likely my cat will stash a combustible toy by the heater, thereby starting a fire that burns the place to the ground. Or my new neighbors could leave candles burning. Or their holiday trees could spontaneously combust. (Luckily I have a holiday stick, so dry and drooping pine needles won't be a problem for me.) Gosh, it could happen anytime. And I wouldn't be able to do much about it. Grab the cat and run.

I started making a list of items to pack in my bug-out bag, just in case. No whining. But that doesn't mean I can't be ready for the worst. I am a chronic malcontent after all. It's my job.