Soooo, Irma is coming through Naples, my hometown. And we’re here, me and my insane old dad. He won’t go. He won’t even go to a shelter nearby, let alone my boyfriend’s house which is built to withstand at least some measure of hurricane. Even he and his family are leaving for the eastern coast where his grandparents live.
I can’t leave my dad.
Jefferson’s so torn up. He knows he needs to be with his family to help with their 8 other kids and grand-kids, nieces and nephews. I told him he has to go and he knows it. But I can see in his eyes that protective instinct for me and that it’s going to crush him to leave me if we can’t persuade my dad to come.
I’m so sick, this head cold and the meds I’m on for it are wiping me out. But I can’t leave my dad, and he won’t be persuaded. I’m too well medicated to have a single emotion other than pure stress. If we can get my dad to leave, let’s go! If we can’t, well, that’s that isn’t it? I don’t feel a single thing about it.
We’ll probably survive… right? I mean we can swim – we’ll survive flooding. We’ll be indoors until indoors becomes outdoors when the roof blows off… could we get picked up in the winds? Yup. Will we? Who can say. But we’ll probably be alright. The eye is coming for us, and that’s 25 miles of calm at 16 mph. A reprieve. But those eye walls? That’s the scary shit.
I’m an adrenaline junkie, there’s no two ways around it. I am. But to want to stay for the strongest Atlantic storm in recorded history. No. Fucking. Way. I may be an idiot, but not today. I’m ready to leave.
Anyway, this is all to say, I’m caught between a rock and a hard place here. We have less than 24 hours before we have to be somewhere secure, or weather this thing like a bunch of lunatics.
We are a bunch of lunatics, but that’s besides the point.
If you’re the praying sort, pray that my dad comes to his senses so we can leave. Pray that Jefferson doesn’t kill him while he’s cussing him out for not worrying about his daughter, me. And please, pray that if we do stay here, that we make it through the horror that’s coming.
Today is the feast of the Nativity of Our Lady. Mary’s birthday, the mother of Jesus. If you’re catholic, that means something, if not I’m sure it doesn’t. But maybe she’ll help us. Maybe. If we pray. Gosh, I’ve never felt so much like my typing away is merely shouting into a void.
Goodbye, I’ll see you all after.
Oh, and Jefferson’s leaving me tonight, our 9 month anniversary. Guess that won’t mean anything tomorrow. Shit.