Every once in awhile I get all "the end of the world is coming! the sky is falling! look, the apocalypse!" and I go do laundry. Because how mad will I be, sitting in a stream washing socks on a rock, when I could have caught up ahead of time?
I didn't do this kind of thing before I had kids, but now, every once in a while, I go down the "what would I do if..." road. Not in a practical sense, mind you. I don't have 5 gallon drums full of dried beans in my basement. I'm more "I guess I'll have to break into the library and steal a book on how to gut a fish."
And then I start to scout out a spot where I can dig a big cave and live like Peter Pan and the lost boys, with smoke vented through hollow trees.
I think I read too much. As much as I love Margaret Atwood, Oryx and Crake totally messed with my head. As did A Handmaid's Tale. Seriously, every once in a while I expect to go to an ATM and not be able to withdraw money because I'm a woman. That story was set in Boston, for crying out loud. Do you have any idea how long it would take us to walk to the border?
I know some people here in town who have goats and chickens and generators and photo voltaics and composting toilets and a hydroponic, solar-powered tilapia tank/endive garden, or something. I sometimes wonder if other people in town have drawn a map to their house, just in case. Will it be crowded over there, or am I the only one who's thought this through? And what if someone has noted that we have chickens and brussels sprouts and has drawn a map to Trout Towers? They will be mightily disappointed, that's what. I'll say something like, "at least we have the chickens" and then a hawk will swoop down and eat them. Which will be a blessing really, as it's a long walk to the chicken feed store and those bags are heavy.
This is all just my way of saying, there is an ice storm out there and I'm doing laundry. The folding and putting away part? It can wait until after the apocalypse.