Life in a dystopian novel
What to do, when the news channel seems to be screening a dystopian film? Should I start stocking up on the tins, like a demented prepper (that’s not the same as a preppie)? Should I get to work on my solar panel array now, before the cloud of despair from the world screens out the sun? Or just pet the dog, and turn back to the keyboard (computer or piano, it doesn’t much matter)?
One week and a bit, and each day brings a new affront to civilized conduct. Any urge to travel is dissipated; at least, here at home, the trees and the sea will remain constant. I can go to the beach (not right now, of course) and pretend that this is a tropical paradise, where the absence of palm trees is normal. Hey, when I was little, we believed that cedar WAS palm.
Actually, I let the dog call the tune, this afternoon. Put him in the car and went down the road to get gas. He’s not very good at judging time, so it seemed like a long trip to him, and there were biscuits when we got home. As long as the biscuits don’t run out, life is wonderful. And now I’m ready to kick back and call for some other tunes; nothing too dramatic; maybe a little acoustic folk from the 70’s, when dystopia was just a term on a high school literature exam.
I’ve got this weird feeling that things may get worse, before they get better.
