Courage in shaky times

Wake up Kanye - it's an earthquake

I don't know about you but the last three weeks are proof that we're living in unsettled times.

Depending on your point of view, it could be certain election results, the new All Black jersey, the death of Leonard Cohen, the once in a lifetime, but ultimately barely visible,

Supermoon and/or the unrelenting national and international earthquakes.
But a sure sign that we've entered apocalyptic times came with the recently reported psychotic break of Kanye West. Yes, I'm being sarcastic but, honestly, it's all been a bit of blur.

I recall being shaken awake, positive Leonard was descending from the heavens for our much-anticipated date night ... and to show me his angel wings. Wishful thinking on my part. A frump can dream.

Still in a fog, I then wondered if Trump had somehow managed to acquire the missile codes and these were shock waves following a nuclear strike.

Reality dawned on me when I was suddenly plunged into darkness which did little to mask my genuine fear.

Bloody typical, I thought. A power cut just when I most need coffee to calm my frazzled nerves.

My remaining life form seemed to be relishing the event. How I despair for the youth of today.

When it was finally over, I took time to give thanks for the little things ... like the fact my bed linens hadn't involuntarily changed colour!

Bored, without internet, Clone the elder decided this was the perfect time for a walkabout.

I observed from my bedroom window as he set off down the long driveway. The bright moonlight reflecting off his head of flaming red hair, emitting a halo of sorts. My usually dormant, lone maternal bone suddenly creaked with an unfamiliar pain. I feared for his safety. Would he be set upon by an angry mob of bombarding moths, dazed and confused by quakes, seeking the light or worse yet, could he be mistaken for a lighthouse by boatloads of desperate Democratic asylum seekers

Two hours had passed and still no power. I didn't know if pipes had burst. Was the water safe to drink? I was parched. I briefly contemplated drinking my own urine, then remembered the Mountain Dew in the fridge, of similar colour but I'm guessing infinitely more palatable. It wasn't coffee but it sufficed.

Terrified now, that food may spoil and aided by multicultural, politically correct moonbeams of all religions, I rummaged around in the freezer and discovered a tub of rapidly softening ice-cream. Horrified at the thought of waste, I knew I had to step up and take one for the team. Delicious it was, too.

The Clone eventually returned safely as did the power, after four freaking hours.
I'd long been contemplating re-arranging the furniture in the lounge. I entered it, with hope, to see if nature had done it for me. More wishful thinking.

I didn't, however, escape completely unscathed. My Handee towels had fallen from the fridge. I made a mental note to contact EQNZ and my insurers with my claim.
For those who think I'm making light of things .. humour's my coping mechanism, especially without Leonard..

Laughter's the best medicine., I smile loudly and proudly, a pound heavier, post quake bingeing .. but in unsoiled sheets and evermore grateful for what little I do have. #suckitupKanye

■Kate Stewart is an unemployed, reluctant mother-of-three, currently on the run from government forces who welcomes feedback to investik8@gmail.com