Day 1
Joke about emergency weather reports flooding social media.
Tell stories about the year it snowed two feet overnight. Remember your car
buried to the bumper. Discuss Portland weather. Discuss Portland snow removal
tactics. Note: this will be a brief discussion. Remember Driver’s Ed. when you
were 15. They drove you to an icy parking lot, pulled the e-brake so you’d know
how it feels to lose control.
When the snow starts, leave work. Make sure your Montana friends
know about your “snow day”. Stop by Trader Joes for a frozen dinner and 2 Buck
Chuck. Contemplate buying actual survival supplies. Decide against it.
Spend five hours on your couch. Realize it’s the first time
you’ve been in the same room with all four of your roommates ever. Don’t look
outside. Drink beer. Watch The Heat three times. Establish a seating plan complete
with 12 minute rotations. Drink wine. Around 10pm pool your resources for a
nacho masterpiece.
Day 2
Drive 45 minutes for three hours of work. Only slide through
one red light.
Drive your roommate to the grocery store. Contemplate buying
actual survival supplies. Decide against it. Panic when faced with the very
real possibility you won’t make it to a store again for several days. Buy
vitamins, one 16 oz. steak, and a bottle of wine.
Eat the steak immediately when you get home. Trust me, you
won’t regret this. Convince yourself you’ll be a productive human in your bed
with a glass of wine. Intend to write a poem. Watch three episodes of Mad Men
instead.
Stumble downstairs for the Olympic Opening Ceremony. Drink
wine. Narrate the first hour and a half over Facebook chat. Regret your
decision to not buy the meatballs.
Day 3
Decide you can’t spend another day drinking on the couch. Suit
up to drink somewhere else. Make sure to overdress. Always overdress because
you hate being soggy. You’ll get soggy anyways, but you’ll feel better knowing
you tried. Walk 1.5 miles to bottomless mimosas. Drink for three and a half
hours. Make new friends. Hit them in the face with snowballs.
Trek to Allison’s house. Play cards. Drink wine. Play Jenga.
Lose your keys. Give your friend an elbow hickey. Make snow angels. Lose your
hat. Order two shots of winter from the bar around the corner. Winter tastes
suspiciously similar to whiskey. Lose your mind.
Watch the Skins finale with your head on her shoulder, tucked into her bed. Cry. It’s ok, really.
Just cry.
Day 4
Crave tacos. Crave pizza. Crave sushi. Crave nachos.
Fantasize about eating an entire rotisserie chicken. Use your bare hands. All you have left is potatoes. Discuss which pet you would eat
first in an emergency situation. Regret your decision to not buy the meatballs.
Crave curry. Crave cheeseburgers. Crave and crave and crave
and crave.
Walk to the nearest Plaid Pantry for a $5 turkey sandwich
that might kill you. Buy two ciders instead of the 6-pack. Buy your roommate
the lotto ticket with the lion. Feel satisfied with your adult decision.
Spend the rest of the day in your bed. Don’t look outside.
Day 5
At this point your body will become physically incapable of
sleeping even one more second. Try to trick is by lying very still in your bed.
Listen to birds. Listen to ice melt. Contemplate whether or not real life ever
existed. Be glad you are not a bird. Wonder when you showered last. Decide it’s unimportant.
Meet Allison for lunch. Watch ice melt. Consider calling
your grandmother, but maybe your voice doesn’t work. But maybe you don’t
remember how to human. But maybe another time would be better. Walk your
roommate’s fat dog. Avoid street rivers. Consider writing a poem. Stare at a
wall instead. Keep breathing.
Celebrate the melting with friends. With tortas. With margaritas.
With bar hour. With the Tik Tok corner booth and nowhere to go but back to the
real.
Day 6
Wake up.
-b
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