Monday, August 29
Small sacrifices
The S.O., Scott, is already eating through our no-refrigeration/no-cook supplies. How about a nice frozen pizza? I suggest. Eat a damn frozen burrito, I say. Nope--he's munching on the granola bars. But I can't get too mad. He wanted to go as far away as possible yesterday and I told him it would be without me, so he stayed despite a healthy fear for his life. And he's putting up with my mother, who in addition to mowing our lawn this afternoon, has been cleaning non-stop.
Looking at the latest radar, Hattiesburg is about to start catching the Katrina's first edge. And did I take a nap like I said I would? Hell, no. I can't make my eyes even blink, much less nap. My night-owl habits plus a dose of panic has made sleep seem a distant possibility. I expect to start slurring my typing any minute.
In the words of my mother, the fish force-feeder, "If get weird, tell."
Looking at the latest radar, Hattiesburg is about to start catching the Katrina's first edge. And did I take a nap like I said I would? Hell, no. I can't make my eyes even blink, much less nap. My night-owl habits plus a dose of panic has made sleep seem a distant possibility. I expect to start slurring my typing any minute.
In the words of my mother, the fish force-feeder, "If get weird, tell."
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