Urg.

Thirty-six hours later, the power comes back on. Thank you, SeXcel energy, for returning to me my electron soul. I had a fire in the fireplace, but only managed to open one flume so the house was quickly choked with smoke. The wisps looked like ghosts when my flashlight reflected off the hallway mirror through the chandelier. I wrote my PL’s by candlelight instead, then took a bunch of Benadryl and settled in for some sleepless dreams.

Now another storm brews on the horizon. Lightning strikes coupled with faulty wiring will probably set camp on fire, which will in turn get washed into the lake in a torrential downpour. My e-boat is probably lurking in The Armpit as we speak. Nevertheless, Skittles and Q-Bear must rule over Rocket cabin. We must use the $4.2 billion donation to bring Camp Ihduhapi into the space age. We are the Ihduhapi Air & Space Association.

“Waffles… it’s like you’re eating Tron.”

Don’t you hate it when you come to the party late, and you have no idea what’s going on and feel left out of the whole shindig?

Try writing that way.