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a passionate repentance

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiting for Frances

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiting for Frances

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may God stand
Who has the same name as my grandmother.

The weather is unbelieveably clear. Because the storm has exerted massive atmospheric suckage probably and vacuumed all the storms up into it. We'll get a teaser tonight. Yipee.

We have no batteries. Which would be more of a tragedy than it actually IS, if I could be bothered to care about anything at the moment. I'm sleepy and hot. So I'm sitting here in the a/c sucking up the cool air like I could store it in cold cells under my jaws or in my butt or something.

The house looks like a fortress, with wooden slats on the windows and sandbags around the doors. Heh. The neighborhood stray, a cat we call Spike, got into the garage and Mike had to UNDO all the sandbags in order to replace all the sandbags.

I'm trying to feel that precipice of happiness but honest, right now I feel a Mount Dora of indifference. I'm ready for the storm to get *DONE* already. Hunkered down for a week or two or even three, of no air, no lights, no hot water. I don't really mind no hot water, though I miss making iced tea. And if I had enough power to run the fans, I could live without a/c, but without lights in the house I can't *read* in the house. And the mosquitos love me to bits.

Blaaargh. There ought to be a sanctuary you can go to. Somewhere underground, with air conditioning and internet access and lights and soft, comfy recliners, and showers with hot and cold water, and soft beds, and ALL the BOOKS YOU WANT. Hee. Make me turn anchorite, I can tell you.

I already feel guilty about not working.

I think I could probably manage to guilt through the Nativity. Or go all passive aggressive and tell the Angels of the Lord to piss off before I burst into tears.

There's ANOTHER hurricane in the Caribbean. Ivan.

I don't want to talk about it.
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