Waiting is the Hardest Part

We taped up the windows here in Conroe, just in case, and I decided to leave Ike a little message from me.

It’s dark, so none of the newscasters can really show us what conditions are like. Earlier I did see a Weather Channel reporter standing on the shore of Clear Lake in Nassau Bay. The camera panned left and I could see the giant Endeavour highrise. It panned right and I could see the South Shore Hotel, about a half mile from my new apartment.

My new apartment, the one I lived in for two days, is likely under a few feet of water. I don’t have flood insurance, because I just moved and I didn’t need it in my previous place. It could be worse; my furniture in total is probably still less than $5000, and I haven’t moved everything yet. I’ll be able to replace what I need to.

Mainly I’m trying not to think about it because the whole thing sort of makes me want to cry. It’s not the material stuff — I can replace that. But it’s my home. It’s the place I come home to, the place where my memories are. It’s intangible but real. This hurricane is attacking it and I’m helpless to stop it. I don’t like being helpless.