Hurricanes & other unnatural disasters...

I’m so sick of hurricanes I could die—don’t think I can take another, unless it impacts far from me & those I love. First there was Katrina that wreaked havoc on me for destroying my reunion & landing me in my current state of emotional turmoil—without Tommy. Had it not chosen New Orleans as its destination, on the weekend I was supposed to be there, I’m sure we would be solid as a rock right this second, having had nearly four blissful, romantic days.

Now there is Rita—threatening Houston, Tommy's current place of residence—as well as New Orleans, yet once again. And who is also wreaking havoc on me emotionally because we are still at a stalemate. Thus, I can’t help but be worried sick. God only knows where he is, what he’s going to do—how he would receive me were I to reach him (I’m sure he's stressed out enough with all this weather impacting him, never mind having to contend with our problems on top of it). So I again find myself glued to The Weather Channel & Fox News.

It all takes me back to August of '04, & Hurricane Charley, which just happened to occur when I was in Florida visiting Mommie Dearest (like Georges did in '98 when I was down for Dad's funeral). It was the worst weather event I have personally ever borne witness to (although I've gone through a few nasty nor'easters, as well as when a Cat One brushed New York City in October of eighty-five, sending me & my boyfriend on a mad dash out to the yacht club to take his boat to deeper water, & safety). The wind was so strong it almost blew us off our feet—had to hunker over as we walked just to stay upright—but nothing even close to what I would experience nineteen years later, & what Tommy is experiencing right now—not once, but twice, in a period of just four weeks.

Charley’s howling, keening winds—unearthly sounds I have previously heard only in horror movies—are forever embedded in in my memory. They crept in slowly but within no time were up to fifty, then seventy, ninety, one-twenty. I saw a neighbor's sixty foot palm rise straight out of the ground, then tumble over, almost in slow motion. Watched another neighbor's avocado tree sail into my front yard, missing the picture window by mere inches. Heard pool cages snap & buckle, shingles & tiles pelt whatever they blew into. The winds topped out at one-thirty, but most damage was sustained when they shifted from the southeast to the southwest as Charley tore by, its eye a mere seven nautical miles to the west. Everything shook & rumbled, tree roots heaved in an attempt to escape their earthly bondage. And the winds—those horrifying, incessant winds...

Blessedly, Charley was a small & very fast moving storm. Thus, three hours later it was over & the sun came out. But when we stepped outside it looked like a battlefield—everything had been blown to hell & back. Regrouping was a long, tedious process, but the most damage by far was emotional. PTSS hit everyone & lingered well through the holidays. I'm not sure I'm over it yet—every time the wind kicks up I’m reminded of the few hours before Charley hit, which causes the anxiety that now inhabits the core of my being to start churning—the same anxiety I’m experiencing right now, all over again, through Tommy's ordeals...

Good job he didn't let me go to Houston, huh?

Everything is always perfect...in dreams...

....which is what I did about him all night—dream, that is. Nothing sexual, just lots of love in everything we said & did, so much tenderness in our interactions—didn't want to open my eyes, just wanted lay there forever, in that state between sleep & consciousness, & continue feeling that perfect love surrounding me.

Then I did (open my eyes), & of course realized he wasn't here—how disconnected we are—& can't put my finger on anything specific that could have caused it, save for stress & strain on both of us from Katrina. Now, instead of love, I'm filled with this all-consuming pain. My solution? Two Xanax & two (large) glasses of wine kill most any horrible feeling. God, I'd kill, tho, to hear his voice over the phone saying "Hey Sweetheart, it's me"...

God's will...

My dear friend Phil made a fairly profound (if not downright amusing) comment today. Said "Tell your guy to quit fucking with you, and he (God) will stop fucking with him (Tommy). Meaning, Tommy experienced Katrina in Nawlins & now, ironically, just four weeks later, will face a visit from Rita in Houston Saturday...that will probably also (unfortunately) affect New Orleans again, as well...

Hmmmmm...food for thought...

Do I, or do I not?...

Dear Jennifer—
Here is your horoscope for Monday, September 19:
Part of you wants to walk away and save yourself, while the other part is convinced that you could turn this situation around if you had enough time. Just as you're about to decide, the other party will end up seeing things from your point of view.

I've been thinking about calling Tommy & trying to straighten things out—explain why I reacted like I did to his Thursday phone call—how, firstly, I was devastated by the hurricane, my aborted move & how his word 'inconvenience' cut me to the quick—that I'm not trying to pressure him, just help, only suggested a short trip to relax & de-stress that would benefit us both, that we could be a source of comfort to one another—that we've had such a warm, close, caring communication going & how, since the hurricane disrupted our lives, our talks have been angry—that the sooner we get together we'll know in 5 minutes which direction our relationship is headed, friends or lovers—that I miss our beautiful talks & value our connection, & could we, maybe, just start over?

I guess, at this point, what will be will be...