somehow part of the experience for me is as
a lone science journalist in a small town on a mountain top I watch the devastation from one part of the planet to the other, I am surrounded by neighbors who seem to have found a way to survive this epic, having a lot more fun than I am. Outside my window they holler and drink and shout all day, oblivious to the destruction taking place on the rest of the planet. while I'm in here trying to make sense of the world falling apart around me. I wonder sometimes, which of us is dealing with this in a better way.
I know what is coming. LA is about to go up in flames, my daughter will die in the arms of her Romeo and there will be few survivors. I knew this was coming, I'm a science journalist by training. But now as it begins, the heat and flames and devastation of the planet, and I watch from one of the few safe places left here in Tahoe, watching it is not as liberating as I thought it would be. It's horrible. This is really happening.
The end is coming and I get to document it on a blog, somehow when I saw this coming I thought I
would feel more blessed, or special. Instead I feel nothing but dread
-ke
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