I always forget how weird hurricane days are.
There’s a weird glow outside, a very strange late afternoon light–as though the sun is very bright and trying as hard as it can to pierce through the layers of gray cloud up there in the sky. It’s been raining in little bits and pieces for about an hour or so now. I just moved my car to higher ground–always a risk, as you never know what the wind is going to do–and the gutters are already filled with water. The back yard and roof are steadily draining towards the front where the street is, and the crepe myrtles are swaying and moving, bending one way before snapping back the other. One particularly strong gust of wind almost ripped my umbrella out of my hands as I came around a corner, forcing me to lean into the wind, leading with the umbrella, and not really being able to see anything in front of me as I fought my way back to the gate.
Naturally, when I did reach the gate the wind died completely and everything was still; the rain just dribs and drabs here and there as I made my way along the side of the house and to our door. My sinuses, as always, are acutely tuned to the changes in barometric pressure.
There is, like always, that weird sense of disconnect from the rest of the world. Everything has come to a halt here. Nothing is open and everyone is inside, with the doors locked and shutters closed–and most likely drinking. The tension–no matter how hard you try to pretend like it’s not happening, that it isn’t coming, and there’s nothing to worry about, one’s personal talents for denial won’t stop something bad from happening.
It’s hard to focus, too–I’d love to get a blanket and curl up in my chair with a book, but that restless sense of unease won’t allow me the escape even the most talented writers usually provide for me; I may try to read some short stories or something. I know from past experience I won’t be able to focus enough to edit or write anything. It’s most unfortunate; here I am, taking a personal day because of the weather (I just couldn’t face making condom packs this afternoon) and yet not being able to use the time effectively. I will inevitably walk away from this several times while I am writing it and before I post it; short-attention span is something I tend to experience on these kinds of days.
I always think I want to write about a hurricane day–riding the storm out–in a short story or a novel sometime, but within a day or two of the storm passing I’ll forget how weird these experiences are and how the mind just jumps around and cannot focus on anything. I could always go back and read my hurricane blog entries I suppose–but the last thing I ever want to do is remember how it feels, which is, I suppose, as good a reason as any to never have Scotty and the boys, or some fictional character I haven’t invented yet, go through the experience on the page.
And yet…in the back of my head I keep thinking I should.
The wind is picking up. I should probably post this in case we lose power.