I’m wondering whether my life has been reduced to a Huey Lewis and the News song lyric.
Hurricane Irma was supposed to be a Category 3 hurricane by the time it came to my hood. Then it was 5. Then 4. Now it’s back up to 5.
God doesn’t like Mar-a-Lago. Or any other Trump properties, judging by the locations this storm has hit. But why take us good-hearted Hillary voters out with his gaudy decor that the government will probably pay to restore?
Maybe he’ll come out and sell his shitty $40 hats like he did to Hurricane Harvey victims …
I don’t feel like we’ll be all right. That’s probably from Mom the Psychic saying “we’re done for” every hour.
We had a great week in Orlando. I drove us back a day early (last night) though. The hotel couldn’t extend our stay. And every other hotel that had rooms faced water slides and volcanoes and other bizarre shit. Besides, yesterday Irma was projected to whack Orlando directly.
In any event, I was just about the only car driving south as the whole state heads north to Georgia and the Carolinas and beyond. So I’m either the smart one or the dumb one. Not real sure at this point.
We have a curfew starting at 3 p.m. tomorrow in my county. Wal-Mart closed at noon today. (I was there before 7 a.m.) Publix closed at noon, as did my storage unit place. (Whose general manager’s name, I learned today, is Irma.)
There’s only gas to be found on the turnpike and the stations just off 95. You’re shit out of luck if you try anyplace else.
Got some pizza at my favorite joint tonight and a cheeseburger from McDonald’s for the cat.
It’s 7:30 p.m. now and it’s already a ghost town. Pretty sure Target is the last game in town, although the cashier at Mickey D’s said they will be open till curfew time tomorrow.
I have to say I’m impressed that just about everything else is closed. I did my preparing in Orlando. (As much as I could do without being able to buy plywood, metal shutters or a generator. Or ice. Gah my ice maker is broken and damn landlord won’t pay to fix it.)
Got a boatload of cat litter and all her favorite foods. Don’t have much hoomin food beyond lentil chips, chocolate animal crackers, wine and tea.
And the HOA has zero fucks to give about it all …
It’s Friday night and we expect this shit to hit Sunday morning through Monday at midnight. On the early side. FPL already warned us we WILL be without power, for perhaps weeks.
I worry because I’m on a middle floor. And also parked on the middle floor in our garage.
* Good: No flooding from the lake and bordering canal below. And not the top floor so no worries about my roof blowing off.
* Bad: It rains sideways in Florida. And 180 mph winds hitting a building that was constructed AFTER the last major hurricane to blow through. So, untested. And not sure the car won’t blow away or that I won’t get impaled with idiot neighbors’ unsecured furniture.
Anyway. More bad than good and I’m not done yet.
There aren’t a lot of positive scenarios in my mind out of this. I love my mom and kitty but I get stir-crazy. Also I see work piling up in my inbox (but I’m on vacation, as if THAT were a thing) and it’s making me nuts. I did try to secure my storage unit but I didn’t do a good job in the hour I had because I didn’t know it was closing. (Also, it’s 100 degrees here and there’s no a/c in that thing. Much like the state of my apartment come Sunday afternoon, no doubt.)
What if mom is right and we ARE done for? Have I done enough? Had enough fun? Seen enough of this world? I honestly would not have come back but she insisted we needed her “PAPERS.” If I’m going to die for that, I’ll cry.
She said we aren’t fighters. If this is the end, we won’t make it, she says. And I think I’ve had just enough togetherness (and working for a living. Hell, i finally got promoted. I can die happy, right?) to open the sliding glass door at peak wind velocity and throw myself into the overflowing swamp-cancer lake.
I always say an open door is an invitation. If this is it, indeed … why fight it?