Sunday, November 25, 2012
Just when I think life can’t suck any worse than it does, it proves to me it can. With great delight.
Two nights ago, we got hit with what had to have been a tropical storm. Maybe even a Category One hurricane. It turns out a garage is not a good place to ride out a storm. I’ll be damned if half the roof didn’t get peeled back over us, sending buckets of water down. I made Mom get under the desk in the waiting room so she could stay somewhat dry, along with a few of our belongings (including this handheld). Lucky me, there was nowhere I could go to escape the constant pour and wind. I can’t believe I didn’t get killed by the flying debris, but it somehow missed me.
I still feel soaked to the bone though the last of the storm finally left a good ten hours ago. We may never dry out. There’s a lake in the middle of the garage itself. The carpet here in the waiting room is still squishing, and Mom is sleeping on top of the desk now.
Okay, so I seriously screwed up by bringing us here. But how was I supposed to know we’d have a hurricane tearing off the roof? It’s not like I can call up a weather report anymore. Damn it, we can’t stay here. We’re nearly out of food too. I’ve got a serious case of the chills on top of everything else and a nasty cough. I can’t get sick. I don’t have time to be sick.
So I’m going out now, hoping to find another shelter to hide in and some food. Not to mention avoiding marauding aliens. I guess we really did elude that Dramok, considering no one came to our rescue during the storm. So if I’m careful, I should be okay.
August 29 (later)
I wasn’t able to get far. Kalquorian ships everywhere overhead, like they’re on patrol or something. I saw a couple of likely houses a few blocks away. I was also able to break into two and scavenged some canned food and a nice, dry sleeping bag. Going to curl into it now. So damned cold though an outdoor thermometer insists it’s 85 degrees. The thing must be broken.
August 29 late or August 30 too fucking early
God, is this night ever going to end? I wake up shivering because I can’t get warm even in this sleeping bag. Look on top of the desk, and Mom is missing. I nearly had a heart attack. I went running outside without even looking first to see if anyone bad was lurking around. Mom was standing in the middle of the parking lot, standing dead center of the cracked pavement, looking up at the shuttles zooming overhead. She was wearing just her underwear and bra to boot. Damn it, how the Kalquorians didn’t see her and swoop down to do whatever they’d do to a barely clothed elderly lady, I don’t know.
I didn’t even try to coerce her to come into the garage with me. I just grabbed her and dragged, shoved, carried, whatever it took to get her back inside. That set off a round of coughing from me that you would swear should have brought up a lung. When I finally caught my breath and asked Mom with my voice all high and screechy and freaked out, “What were you doing out there?” you know what she said? Do you know what my deranged mother said?
“It’s too hot in here. I wanted to stand in the breeze.”
Fuck me. Here I am, doing my best to keep her hidden and safe, and she goes parading around in her drawers, inviting everyone to have a look. Adding insult to injury, I’m also busy doing my impression of Frosty the Snowman, feeling like a huge block of ice, and she’s hot. She’s sweating. Matter of fact, so am I. Sweating and cold all at once. I guess I am getting sick, though I’m going to have to fight through it. We cannot afford for me to be down with a cold or flu or whatever I’m getting.
Now I’m crying. And shivering. And coughing. And choking on an ocean of phlegm. I swear, sometimes I wish we’d been in D.C. when the bombs went off. Being dead has got to be better than living through this constant hell of pain and fear.