There is a very specific and very special sort of joy in not being trapped at the bottom of a canyon with your hand trapped under a rock, with no hope of rescue and your very probable death in the very imminent future.
This is the joy of having just watched 127 Hours.
I am not likely to have to cut my own arm off at any forseeable point, and I'm intensely grateful for that fact. Tomorrow, instead of pondering tourniquets and the possibilities of having to drink my own blood, I will be trying to work out the most efficient way to get to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and debating which shade of red to dye my hair.
And really, how lucky is that?
The answer is, very.
And now if you don't mind, I'm going to go drink a ludicrous amount of water. Because I can.
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