Entry tags:

! journal, quinn cunningham

The Ice Storm Diaries, Day 2. [Posted periodically between 11am-10pm]

It's been... this many... hours... since McBride... arrived... in Hamilton...

He was only supposed to visit for the day and then the ice storm made it so he couldn't leave safely.

"Who could have possibly known that portkeys would be affected by ice storms, anyway? Really?" They ask in an attempt to calm my nerves. McBride could, I insist through pleading tears. He probably knew all along.

[Each of the below items is added to the original entry and manually time-stamped by Quinn as they happen.]

11:03 am. We've been told by The Authorities that falling trees and power lines make it dangerous to loiter outside.
We shouldn't go outside.
We can't explore.
We can't skate.
We can't play hockey.
We're snowed in.
I'm going to burn this house down.

11:18 pm. I have informed in no uncertain terms that if I try to burn the house down I'm grounded for life.

House remains standing and unsinged.

1:12 pm. Flo ranks every Stanley Cup championship game by level of violence, and therefore by relative entertainment value.

3:29 pm. It took her 2 hours.

3:58 pm. Photo albums have emerged. Considering murder.

4:16 pm. Have been informed once more that the punishment for matricide and/or patricide and/or McBrideicide also includes a life-long grounding.

All residents remain alive.

For now.

5:49 pm. Gord gives fashion show of experimental projects made from his store's upcoming yarns, including:

• Bioluminescent shrug, yarn from glowing sheep in Scotland.
• Socks that quiver, yarn from a rare breed of "Nunavut quivering qiviut." Or so I'm told.
• Ultra-grippy mittens, yarn from a particularly stubborn breed of rabbit related to the Angora.

6:31pm. The ultra-grippy mittens were so ultra-grippy that it took Gord twenty minutes to pry his hands from the doorframe. That's entertainment I would pay for, if it didn't also include being stuck in this house right now.

7:07pm. Got high with parents. Urge to murder and/or burn dissipating. Thank God.

7:36pm. Flo tries to reenact the Ender's Game movie, should keep day job. (Day job is currently 'nothing.' Suggestion stands.)

7:50 pm. Gooseberry, do you know why I like Canada so much? Even in the middle of a big fuckin' freakin' ice storm, in Toronto, in the Air Canada Centre, in our Hour of the Lord right now, the Leafs are about to face off against the Red Wings. … Of course, I have no way of knowing what's going on because the power's out. Any good samaritans want to keep me updated on the score? The withdrawal is starting to hurt.

(McBride would probably demand the score for the Bruins–Sabres game that's starting right now, too, but just remember who you love more, Gooseberry.) (It's me. You love me more. My team takes priority.)

9:04 pm. My parents just offered to jam with McBride. They own a didgeridoo. Send help.

9:37 pm. Jam session delayed while rest of household bickers about band names. Abandoned propositions include: 'Rush 2,' 'Rush 3,' 'The Good-Time Family Band,' 'Rush 4.' My suggestion of 'Please No.' was immediately shot down.

[Because this entry is written kind of unconventionally, it would be helpful if the timestamp (like "9:04pm") is included in a comment's subject if that comment would have been written during/about a specific thing above.]