Hurricane Matthew come-th, with cats, reading, and ice cream...
I've been sitting on this couch, off and on, for hours, first trying to do budgets then finishing reading library books. I've been sick since Tuesday, still went to Bad Decisions for his journal article on Wednesday, then held out since Thursday. I did some cleaning when I wasn't hacking with every ounce of my being. I woke this morning, worried about Hurricane Matthew, knowing my parents had decided to stay to see what the fuss was all about.
He left again tonight, another house party with new friends. Logically, I knew there was nothing for him here. A quiet night at home without him in it sounded nice, but I was cranky and full of mucus. And I hadn't heard from my parents who were expecting a surge to have their home be waterfront property.
The emotions swelled in me, this logic tamping down the emotional turmoil. I was congested and hacking. He wanted to leave. Sure, he could stay and he said he would have, but I didn't want that. I took advantage of my graduate school time and ended up in bars and sausage factories and late night escapades. He just wanted to go to a house party on the other side of the county.
So he left.
I hunkered down, then my cell phone rang. Momma. Momma was calling from her cell phone to let me know they had no power, but they were okay. Despite a fruit tree falling over and something about gate hinges, they had pretty much survived this big hurricane. Texts had been flooding in from friends in college, asking about my parents. "ARE THEY OKAY?"
My friends from high school knew they'd be fine in their house on concrete pillars.
We're very lackadaisical about hurricanes when you grow up with them.
There's a picture of me in seventh grade (I remember, because hello permed bangs!) that shows me standing knee-deep in water. It was a block from our house on the ocean.
I remember when the pier washed away when I was in high school. And I packed my dog and my cat, drove 14 hours to Alabama, and we all slept in Kermit.
After confirming my parents were alright, I loaded their local video feed. I saw the water come surging in from the ocean- was that 11th Avenue? 12th? And washing the next two blocks over away.
The fish shack's pier is gone mostly. The one where I met up with Dippy, with Bluejay and her family a few times. Its pier is gone.
My parents are fine, yet another hurricane in Florida. I'm better, mentally. I sit with my rented library books, sporadically sneezing. Sadie is by my head, and Socks snores on my leg. I did into the remaining ice cream to cool my throat. I've already finished the tale of someone's alcoholism, so I dive into a story about Catholicism and feel the familiar tug with being queer in the Church. Yet still having the urge for it.
The cats will continue to snore around me. Eventually, there'll be no more ice cream. I'll finish another book. But I take solace in the fact that my parents are fine, if without power. And that Fidget is across the county, making college friends...
... it's turning into an oddly relaxing Friday evening, even with the sickness.
He left again tonight, another house party with new friends. Logically, I knew there was nothing for him here. A quiet night at home without him in it sounded nice, but I was cranky and full of mucus. And I hadn't heard from my parents who were expecting a surge to have their home be waterfront property.
The emotions swelled in me, this logic tamping down the emotional turmoil. I was congested and hacking. He wanted to leave. Sure, he could stay and he said he would have, but I didn't want that. I took advantage of my graduate school time and ended up in bars and sausage factories and late night escapades. He just wanted to go to a house party on the other side of the county.
So he left.
I hunkered down, then my cell phone rang. Momma. Momma was calling from her cell phone to let me know they had no power, but they were okay. Despite a fruit tree falling over and something about gate hinges, they had pretty much survived this big hurricane. Texts had been flooding in from friends in college, asking about my parents. "ARE THEY OKAY?"
My friends from high school knew they'd be fine in their house on concrete pillars.
We're very lackadaisical about hurricanes when you grow up with them.
There's a picture of me in seventh grade (I remember, because hello permed bangs!) that shows me standing knee-deep in water. It was a block from our house on the ocean.
I remember when the pier washed away when I was in high school. And I packed my dog and my cat, drove 14 hours to Alabama, and we all slept in Kermit.
After confirming my parents were alright, I loaded their local video feed. I saw the water come surging in from the ocean- was that 11th Avenue? 12th? And washing the next two blocks over away.
The fish shack's pier is gone mostly. The one where I met up with Dippy, with Bluejay and her family a few times. Its pier is gone.
My parents are fine, yet another hurricane in Florida. I'm better, mentally. I sit with my rented library books, sporadically sneezing. Sadie is by my head, and Socks snores on my leg. I did into the remaining ice cream to cool my throat. I've already finished the tale of someone's alcoholism, so I dive into a story about Catholicism and feel the familiar tug with being queer in the Church. Yet still having the urge for it.
The cats will continue to snore around me. Eventually, there'll be no more ice cream. I'll finish another book. But I take solace in the fact that my parents are fine, if without power. And that Fidget is across the county, making college friends...
... it's turning into an oddly relaxing Friday evening, even with the sickness.