For some reason, planes tend to decelerate in the airspace above my apartment. The sound is a little disarming, like the precursor to some kind of catastrophic disaster. I realized last night that when I’m working on writing or comics and I hear that noise above, I save my progress. There’s no real explanation for it. Just the subconscious thought, I suppose, that as the rescue workers shovel away the bits of my charred corpse, they’ll be relieved to find my half-finished Weird Adventures comic as last scrap of my work to be presented posthumously. Perhaps there would be some ceremony involved.

Maybe it’s just that I don’t save often enough and the threat of a major disaster like a 757 crashing into my living room reminds me that a minor disaster like an application crashing on my computer could feel just as devastating. For an hour or so.

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