Stormy Weather
Last night on the way home from bat_cheva and farrandy's place, we wound up driving through a fucking hailstorm. This would have been harrowing all on its own, what with the total blackness punctuated by windshield impacts making it feel very much like a fucking meteor storm, but the highways here are exceedingly poorly-marked, our windshield wipers chose more or less that moment to start making noises like a shrieking baboon inside an iron maiden, and Oklahoma drivers are incredibly fucking stupid.
This is the middle of a hail- and rainstorm, the roads are slick, and these assholes are flying past at 70 miles an hour over elevated roads with no visible markings, no streetlights, and no shoulder. I have no idea where they had to be on a Monday night in such an all-fired hurry, but I deeply hope it led them to contract something fatal.
The storm continued until five in the morning. The tornado sirens went off twice in quick succession, sending every dog in the county into spasms, and at one point the hail was being driven so furiously against the snake room windows that I thought it had broken the window and was falling onto the floor. I tried to get to sleep, but even through earplugs it was futile.
The wind was gusting, hail was hammering, the rain sounded like someone throwing nails against the house, and the thunder and lightning were almost constant; it was a terrible din. I love storms, so I was not all that unhappy, but Fish . . . poor Fish. After a particularly enthusiastic gust of wind and hail, I heard this tiny ". . . mew?"
I looked over and cracked up. She was on the bed, hunkered down in the mussed bedclothes, with only her ears and eyes sticking up. Her eyes were the size of shooter marbles. I didn't have a camera, so I drew you a picture:
She was afraid, as cissa would say, of the Cat-Eating Thunder Monsters.
Not long after this the storm worsened again, which sent her quite literally scampering downstairs to hide under the boa cage. Once the noise was over, she came out and stood in the middle of the floor, peeping at the top of her fat little lungs. I am not sure if she was loudly proclaiming her total lack of cowardice or begging for comfort.
She got scooped up and snuggled anyhow, because right at that moment I desperately needed some chunky kitty love.
Why?
The window at the head of my bed sprung a leak last night and dripped all over my CDs, several books, and a pile of magazines. I intervened before any lasting damage was done, and the leak was only a small one, but it was like the icing on the roach-filled loathing cake.
I hate this house.
The leak triggered a fit of inarticulate and despair-laced fury which kept me awake until eight a.m. I finally went to sleep after emo-dumping on Sargon, only to wake up in the middle of the . . . err . . . morning . . . to discover that I had sprung a leak. Thank you, uterus, for the lively punctruation.* Thank you so fucking much.
So now I'm in pain and bleeding and pissed off at my body, in addition to being pissed off at my house.
I do, however, have a heating pad, which means I have a cat in my lap, which means I am being purred on and stared at worshipfully by something small and hairy and stinky, so life isn't all bad.
* That was a typo, but I nominate it as a real word, meaning any period that occurs at a dramatically inconvenient, inappropriate, or unexpected moment.
This is the middle of a hail- and rainstorm, the roads are slick, and these assholes are flying past at 70 miles an hour over elevated roads with no visible markings, no streetlights, and no shoulder. I have no idea where they had to be on a Monday night in such an all-fired hurry, but I deeply hope it led them to contract something fatal.
The storm continued until five in the morning. The tornado sirens went off twice in quick succession, sending every dog in the county into spasms, and at one point the hail was being driven so furiously against the snake room windows that I thought it had broken the window and was falling onto the floor. I tried to get to sleep, but even through earplugs it was futile.
The wind was gusting, hail was hammering, the rain sounded like someone throwing nails against the house, and the thunder and lightning were almost constant; it was a terrible din. I love storms, so I was not all that unhappy, but Fish . . . poor Fish. After a particularly enthusiastic gust of wind and hail, I heard this tiny ". . . mew?"
I looked over and cracked up. She was on the bed, hunkered down in the mussed bedclothes, with only her ears and eyes sticking up. Her eyes were the size of shooter marbles. I didn't have a camera, so I drew you a picture:
She was afraid, as cissa would say, of the Cat-Eating Thunder Monsters.
Not long after this the storm worsened again, which sent her quite literally scampering downstairs to hide under the boa cage. Once the noise was over, she came out and stood in the middle of the floor, peeping at the top of her fat little lungs. I am not sure if she was loudly proclaiming her total lack of cowardice or begging for comfort.
She got scooped up and snuggled anyhow, because right at that moment I desperately needed some chunky kitty love.
Why?
The window at the head of my bed sprung a leak last night and dripped all over my CDs, several books, and a pile of magazines. I intervened before any lasting damage was done, and the leak was only a small one, but it was like the icing on the roach-filled loathing cake.
I hate this house.
The leak triggered a fit of inarticulate and despair-laced fury which kept me awake until eight a.m. I finally went to sleep after emo-dumping on Sargon, only to wake up in the middle of the . . . err . . . morning . . . to discover that I had sprung a leak. Thank you, uterus, for the lively punctruation.* Thank you so fucking much.
So now I'm in pain and bleeding and pissed off at my body, in addition to being pissed off at my house.
I do, however, have a heating pad, which means I have a cat in my lap, which means I am being purred on and stared at worshipfully by something small and hairy and stinky, so life isn't all bad.
* That was a typo, but I nominate it as a real word, meaning any period that occurs at a dramatically inconvenient, inappropriate, or unexpected moment.