Goodbye, cruel world? (Hurricane Irma edition)

I don’t normally like to write that I’m traveling when I’m actually traveling.

That said, I am not at home … and Hurricane Irma is barreling up the spine of Florida, ready to bowl a perfect strike in the next couple of days.

St. Martin is wiped out. The Keys have been evacuated. I’m in the center of the state on a long (long) awaited vacation that I cannot even enjoy.

Mom is convinced this is it … we aren’t going to live through this one.

I know my apartment building couldn’t withstand a gust of dog flatulence. But even if this Category-5 mess does manage to get downgraded to a Cat-3 by the time it hits the happiest place on earth, we’ll still be foo-kay-ayed.

So do I spend my last days on the planet preparing for this shit, or do I just enjoy my vacation and go into the great beyond without worrying about my money and jewelry?

That’s the thing. Do I stay here and hope my house isn’t a pile of rubble … and hope that there are still roads to DRIVE HOME ON because this cunt Irma is set to roll straight up the Turnpike …

Or do I go home and be inside the not-boarded-up building because my landlord doesn’t care and I can’t do it my damn self … and die in the apartment I hate most?

And I can’t believe I’m going to say this … but I wish I hadn’t gotten promoted. I have a department to go back and run on Monday. This shit is going to hit anywhere from Saturday to Monday.

I’d really rather not be in charge right now. The guys we let go (the body count keeps rising, too) are probably like “Deuces, bitch.” They are probably in the Carolinas by now. Not FIGHTING TO GO BACK into the heart of the storm like I have to in a couple days.

Seems a fitting end for me, though. The job will kill you one way or another. Who would have ever predicted this particular “another,” though?

I know I need to be positive. But there are two other named storms forming — Katia to the left of us and Jose to the right. (And I’m stuck in the middle with Irma. Sing along!) And Jose looks like a mean motherfucker, too.

I mean at least it isn’t the wildfires in California, right? Combine all this shit with Harvey in Texas, all the terrorist attacks in Europe, and that North Korean nutcake playing chicken with OUR pussy-grabbing Kim Jong Un, and maybe this is the apocalypse. And we’re all gonna die one way or another anyway and mine is just a watery, electric-less end.

Hard to be hopeful today. And it’s mom’s 60th birthday, too, and I am so thrilled she made it. So thrilled. And Kadie is here too. I don’t think she’s long of this world, either, and I just want to be happy for one goddamned minute with my family still safe, dry and intact.

Fuck it. I’m gonna take momma to feed some swans and we’re going to eat a big fat fucking steak for dinner. Why count Weight Watchers points when you’re instead counting your days?

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