January 12, 2025 – 8:57 AM
Diary of a Snowbound Visionary, Day 6 (Officially Day 3)
Dear future generations,
The saga continues, but the storm has weakened. Yesterday, driven by duty and the promise of overtime, I embarked on my greatest mission yet. Though my previous road reconnaissance convinced me that caution was unnecessary, I left early to gather a fellow musician. Preparation was key. In my arsenal: walnuts, cheddar cheese slices, and the true elixir of life—Diet Coke. Forget lightsabers; this is the source of my power.
Before departing, I noticed a momentous occasion in my own neighborhood. The kid with the tractor finally made it down our part of the street. His attempts at “helping” the snow situation added some creative flair to the already laughable conditions. Let’s call it… abstract plowing. One man’s scrape is another man’s obstacle course.
The journey to the concert space, however, was uneventful and, dare I say, record-breaking. The snow bowed before my wheels as we arrived with time to spare. Rehearsal went long—an entire hour of overtime—and I passed the slight time between rehearsal and concert, nibbling my snacks like a woodland creature observing nature’s quiet chaos. The theater filled, defying the snow’s best efforts to keep us home. The show went on without a hitch, despite the Rebellion’s failure to learn from past mistakes. Han was captured. Luke lost his hand. Again. Some lessons are never learned.
At 10:45 PM, I set out for home. The roads? Clear. The sky? Silent. My bed? Glorious.
And now, I sit here once more, sipping my Super Orange Emergen-C, pondering a day where temperatures are predicted to soar into the 40s. Soon, the majestic three inches of snow will be nothing but a memory, a fleeting moment of frosty drama that failed to live up to its ominous forecast.
But wait—what’s this? I peer into the future and see a new promise of “heavy snow” next Monday. Dare I believe? Should I prepare once more for barren bread aisles and panic-driven milk hoarding? Or has the trust between meteorologists and snowbound visionaries like myself been forever shattered?
For now, life resumes. Today is Sunday—laundry, groceries (assuming no secret patches of treachery remain to ambush my cart), and some obligatory labor for “The Man”. The day will end with rehearsal for Mahler’s Fifth Symphony. Mahler demands more than Diet Coke; this may require an orange Celisius drink.
Until the next snowflake falls, I remain vigilant, warm and, sarcastic.
© 2025, Robert Owen. All rights reserved.
