Hurricane Matthew is about to fuck my hometown’s face off. And by “about,” I mean, like, I’m killing time avoiding sleep — and drinking heavily — because I don’t know if my house is going to exist when I wake up.



etienne the kitty says hello.


we are safe, bodily.  i have no idea what to expect when we get back to the beachside, assuming the beach bridges even open saturday; i just hope we have a house.

and then of course, i feel guilty, because part of my anxiety about this is because i am so close to getting out of this house and city, and how fucking self-centered is it that i’m brooding about how this historically catastrophic hurricane might fuck up my travel plans.

but before i start beating myself up over that, kindly send me good thought for the next twenty-four hours that like my life doesn’t get unwillingly and wholly reinvented.


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