The “storm of the century” (a newspaper’s phrase, not mine) has arrived. I’ve spent the entire morning outdoors–woo. It’s pouring. But not the storm of the century. Maybe it is–an 18 wheeler was blown over by a gust of wind on the San Rafael-Richmond Bridge, there are 100 mph wind gusts (definitely 70 mph wind gusts), 30 foot waves, and power outages to half a million people. It’s raining sideways.
Nevermind the blizzard in the Sierras.
Our basement’s started to flood and water’s finding its way past the cracks of our windows indoors. The power was out from sometime last night until about half an hour ago. I saw PG&E technicians in cherry pickers and dangling from power poles in the neighborhood earlier today. A flourescent orange-vested PG&E guy on each pole.
I think I’ll light a fire, make some hot cocoa, and watch the news, nurse my cold (which I now realize is a fullblown flu). I’m indoors for the rest of the day. You should try to stay indoors, too.
…updated: Okay. I’m not watching the news anymore. In 10 minutes, I got to hear about Britney Spears’ nervous breakdown, some dude who killed his wife, a guy who jumped off a skyscraper and lived, a guy who slipped his pregnant girlfriend the abortion pill, and a father who poured boiling hot cooking oil all over his seventeen month old son. Is that the sum of “fucked up” or what? I can’t watch the news–I’d forgotten how depressing it is.