They Promised Me That It Would Be Warm

They promised me it would be warm here.

They did.

They lied.

I just wish I had been better prepared for the weather. My own fault I guess.

It's ok, I actually don't mind Macon at all ... though there isn't a lot to do. On one hand it seems interesting to have so much time to myself, but I really do miss Cecilia. And this cold isn't helping anything. We're supposed to get 1-3 in. of snow here in Macon ... so of course everyone is panicking. All schools have been closed, houses boarded up and the children have been locked away in little rooms with their own portable space heaters. Piggly Wiggly ran out of bread and milk by mid-day.

I always thought it was interesting that everyone buys milk and bread and toilet paper as soon as they hear it's going to snow. I once saw a woman with a shopping containing 5 gallons of milk, atleast 6 loaves of bread and an equal number of toilet paper packs. "What are you doing?" I imagine myself asking her. "As soon as I see snow I a chug milk, eat only bread and shit uncontrollably." her only possible answer.

I've been exploring the Plant (clay processing plant) at work this week, everyday going deeper and deeper into the belly of the great, lurching machine that I call master. Everyday farther underneath the tangle of pipes coming from the darkness and disappearing into it again, visibly pulsing with the clay dust that is like gold to the people of Gordon. Each time I fear we've ventured too far, that this will be the time we don't make it back, and each time we emerge back into the living, breathing world, relief washes over me in an awesome wave. We stumble back to our living boxes every night and prepare to make the journey again. But will the next day be our last?

No, I wouldn't say I've been involved in the more technical aspects of running the Plant. Why do you ask?