Killing Time

Hurricane Sandy has since come and gone. In its wake? An entire coastline is destroyed and small towns are left trying to figure out the extent of the damage. Days are spent cleaning up the reminders of gale force winds that ripped large oaks from their perches, sent debris cascading through neighborhood streets, and toppled telephone and power lines like they were lined up dominoes.

And me? I sit and wait. No power, spotty cell phone reception that allows for the random text message in and out, not to mention the threat of the water contamination and looming shut-off (glad I housed that SIGG bottle of water earlier).

So I do my best attempting to keep myself busy: raking leaves in the yard and returning flower pots to their original spots, with the goal of restoring homeostasis to my little corner of the cul-de-sac. Heading indoors, I attempt to complete work that doesn’t require access to old emails (inaccessible) or Internet connection (unavailable). I write in my journal, chronicling my thoughts, I sketch outlines for three new story ideas and read, read, and read again.

Despite all of this, I find myself sitting and pondering the predicament we’re in. I feel effectively cut off from the outside world and access to information that would keep me connected to a world that has gone on without us. Even our generator-powered supermarket has no newspapers to devour. So I wonder: what’s happening out there? Do they realize we’re gone? Do they miss us? Do they wonder how we are doing? When we will rejoin their ranks? When will this end?


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