Hurricane Frances will fuck my shit up.

So, some of you know about the great Hurricane Frances. That whole thing about Charley? CHILD'S PLAY. You can call Frances "OH FUCK." Because, you see THIS? IT EATS FLORIDA!

I might as well put on a swimsuit and stick it out! Good lord! I'm terrified for my house. I don't understand all the people at school going "We have home insurance. We'll just get it fixed, no big deal." This is MY HOUSE. MY DAMN HOUSE that my dad spent years almost building from scratch. I have never lived anywhere but here and we've spent years, all the time I've been alive, adding bits and improving here and improving there and remodeling here and there and making it so much our own. I'll cry if there's serious damage. This freaks me out.

I'm leaving very early Friday morning to go to a bit above Tampa. With my grandmother as well. >.<

I have so many things I can't leave. I have to bring the ten or so notebooks I've written in over the years, the Blue Fic, the Badfic, the Young Guns fic, everything. I have to bring the laptop, my DVDs, my jewelry. And oh God, please don't let looters come. Please let everything stay in one piece, please oh God, please. Please let the barrier islands stay in one piece, and please let severepsychosis just be being pessimistic and for that not to be really true and FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

This is so unfair. Horribly, catastrophically unfair. I don't want this, I don't need this, I almost want to stay in a shelter nearby. This is really not good and I don't like it one bit.

*gnaws off fingers*

Frances: coming. You: leaving. Chop chop!

Yeah, this is us now, as Becky so aptly put it on IM yesterday.

ARTHUR: Pack your asses up, we gots to jet.

RICH ROMAN GUY: But all our stuff is here--!

ARTHUR: Saxons: coming. You: leaving. Chop chop!

(This is from m15m cleolinda's King Arthur in Fifteen Minutes, btw.)

God, this is miserable. I'm leaving at dawn. I've taped down stuff in my room, packed up the Blue Fic and the Young Guns fic and all my photo albums. I've put everything fly-able in the drawers and put my sketchbooks in plastic bags and they're in the closet, and my bulletin board is covered in plastic. I spent all day helping put up the hurricane shutters and everything, and at one point it was 105 degrees F.

I don't know where I'm going to put my "shoebox." Which isn't a shoebox, it's a miniature hat box filled with (ten pounds worth of) two or three years of notes between me and Becky. My other shoebox, an actual shoebox, is packed up in a secure airtight container in the safest room in the house.

This isn't good in any way.

And I am so cruelly denied access to alcohol, just when I've decided it's okay to be weak-willed and illegal. Well, okay, Disaronno, but it's a tiny bottle and people would notice if it went missing. Plus it tastes like a dentist's office.

Right. And to top off the stress, no shoebox_project yet. I understand dorkorific is AWOL, and it's not ladyjaida's fault, but...fuck. I was kinda expecting it. Oh well, I'll be up late, and in the meantime I'm trying to put all of the Shoebox chapters into a text only thing so I can put it on my mom's PDA to read in the car.

So. Tomorrow. Dawn.

Wish me luck.