We’re almost directly in the path of hurricane Dorian. (I’m sorry, but I hate that name – I call the storm Dorian Gray)

I’ve been in Florida since 1992, with a rather quick sabbatical in Texas in 1996. The state stopped surprising me after hurricane Andrew ripped my roof off… in 1992. You’d think I’d turn around and leave the way I came after that welcome, but no. Of course not. I never learn.

Several hurricanes later and I’m going through that old routine… and hating every minute of it. What used to be exciting and sometimes terrifying has simply become a major pain in my ass.

All this is to say… someone please send some gas down here so I can power the generator long enough to make coffee.

Roughly half my hopes for survival rested on this lovely front I’d named George.

And then he occluded.

We’re in the Fort Lauderdale area and have prepared as best we can… and are still working… but how do you really prepare for a Cat 4/5 storm?

Sure, we have brand new impact windows… but I’m worried about the old doors. I’m worried about the roof. I’m worried that the whole damn house will go. I saw it, after Andrew. It just took my roof and most of my stuff, but down in Homestead, entire communities were wiped from the face of the earth as though they’d never existed.

I know, just like Galveston. And every other place… And all I can see when I close my eyes is the Andrew devastation.

If you’re in this, know that I’m praying for you.

Bastard front.