So, here’s the thing: I’m supposed to sit down, right now, and write this thing. This column. Which is usually fun, and hopefully funny. Usually, that’s the goal when I sit down to write.
But here’s the thing: It’s Tuesday night. And I’m sitting down, and I’m thinking to myself, “Who cares? This thing comes out Sunday! Hurricane Irma may be here by Sunday. St. Augustine may be up to its eyeballs in water … again. And I’m supposed to sit down and write a COLUMN?!?”
And the phone keeps ringing. Mostly it’s my mother. She’s worried about where she’s going to go in the storm if we have to evacuate.
Actually, she wasn’t worried. Not until I made her worried. Because she had a hotel room booked by the interstate. They would take her dog. Maybe even her two cats, if she snuck them in with a picnic basket. She had it all thought out, and she was pretty proud.
Then she called me. I had to — no pun intended — rain on her parade.
“Tuesday!?!” I said. “You booked your rooms for Tuesday? The storm will be here already!”
How did I know this? I don’t! I didn’t know anything. Because I’m not a meteorologist. I’m just a guy who is supposed to be sitting down to write a column. But instead I’ve been staring at hurricane forecast models on the Internet. Spaghetti models by fancy computers that may or may not have anything to do with Italian food. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I look at these things and then claim to see the future. That Irma will jog this way, then swing back that way, and all RIGHT BEFORE she checks into her room.
Maybe it won’t. I don’t know. Because I’m just a schmo with a deadline.
So, she goes to bed nervous and I sit back down to write. Only, that doesn’t last long. Because there’s a guy on TV talking about more spaghetti models. And it sounds like this guy really DOES know what he’s talking about. And he might know if it’s coming before Monday, like on Sunday, which is … when this column comes out!
Yikes. Back on it. Back to typing. Only, it’s impossible to keep my mind on it. Because now I’m thinking about the morning and how I want to run to Publix for water. Because they were out of water, just like everyone when my wife went shopping.
But one of the workers said — and this is good intel! — there’s a truck coming in the morning. Don’t you love it? A truck! Coming in the morning! Get there early! It’s sounds like some kind of spy novel. And I’m thinking about that. And how this is what living in Florida has come to: Juicy details about bottled water shipments!
Got to be there when it opens. Got to check those spaghetti models. And for crying out loud, got to sit down and write this column …