After the recent earthquake activity in BC and Alaska, I realized that my pony shelves are not anchored to the wall. If the big one hits and I'm in my pony room (ok, let's face it, it's a pony closet), I'll be buried in ponies. Not a bad way to go... Kinda like a pirate, going down with her ship. Grrrr, argh. Ahoy matey, there be ponies ahead. Years later (because I live alone and no one ever calls me), an archaeologist would unbury my remains and try to determine my cause of death. She would note in her findings that the subject appeared to be mummified in colourful pieces of plastic and appeared to have died with a smile on her face. Wait, I was supposed to be cleaning up. This is what my procrastination is looking like today. Bizarre fantasies of my demise.