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Well. The house flooded again. Only an inch or so, but an inch across the whole house is nobody's friend. We are back into the noisy, dark, hot hell of seventeen industrial fans and three giant dehumidifiers, and the disaster recovery people were kind enough to give us a flat rate for all of it, on account of us being repeat customers and our checks always clearing.
We can't turn on the lights. We can't turn on the oven. Charging phones is iffy. They came and took away two fans today, because that's the fewest number we were able to give up without tripping the breakers constantly. The AC is still working, which is a plus, so it's mostly keeping things down to the high 80s inside, where it's dark and extremely loud and very, very dry.
All the furniture is shoved into the center of rooms. Smells a bit like cat box in all the rooms near catboxes. Does not smell like mildew, which is a plus. I am sleeping on the couch, in a sort of padded coffin of furniture pressed up against the open side of the couch (too late to turn it around) and the couch's back at the other, dog and cat on top of me at night. The dog is constantly terrified, and I can't blame him, poor guy.
This will continue for about a week. I hope not much more than a week.
It's surreal, honestly. It feels like my brain has stopped. I've been reading a lot of library books by sitting near windows, and making soothing sounds at the dog. I slept about twelve hours last night, interuptions aside, and will probably do the same tonight. What else is there to do? It's too dark and loud and hot and wifi-free and confused to do anything but lie down with earplugs in and try to sleep. At least the noise is pretty constant, except for when the dog's terror turns to barking, or George throws a meowing hissy fit.
Zabina refuses to come inside except when it's raining. (I can't blame her.) Oh! And it's been raining a lot. Still. Thunderstorms to terrify the dog, sudden cloudbursts to make me panic, a single giant piece of hail in a parking lot for no good reason. The weather is bizarre and I have no confidence that it will ever stop being so.
Maybe we'll flood a third time. Ha. Ha. Ha.
I talked with the disaster people about what to do to prevent this next time. They sort of looked apologetic, and said that the weather's been getting worse and weirder, and the official flood maps aren't caught up, so...maybe nothing. They know a guy who's done everything: moats, french drains, barriers, pump systems. They show up to dry his house two or three times a year. And when the water's coming up through the floor, and I'm sweeping it out through the front door because the water level is lower outside than inside... I just don't know. I don't know.
I'm sure not getting any writing done. I consider it an accomplishment to remember to eat three meals, feed the cats, shower, and remember to leave the house for an internet session somewhere every day.
Another week of this. Hell. And Rob's in Tokyo for more than that, though at least that makes the part where the mattress is out of commission for space reasons (and possibly slightly damp, and I am worried we'll have to replace that, too) less of a puzzle for figuring out where everyone can sleep. I am...lacking in hugs and in quiet and in confidence. I am constantly anxious, and I can't even reassure myself that it's probably okay--like I was with all the previous thunderstorms, talking to the panicking dog, after the previous flood--because I am no longer sure that it's probably okay.
I love this house. But Austin's weather sure doesn't. At least the floors are all porcelain tile now, and pretty much immune to water damage. Did it that way on purpose, and it was a smart, smart move.
We can't turn on the lights. We can't turn on the oven. Charging phones is iffy. They came and took away two fans today, because that's the fewest number we were able to give up without tripping the breakers constantly. The AC is still working, which is a plus, so it's mostly keeping things down to the high 80s inside, where it's dark and extremely loud and very, very dry.
All the furniture is shoved into the center of rooms. Smells a bit like cat box in all the rooms near catboxes. Does not smell like mildew, which is a plus. I am sleeping on the couch, in a sort of padded coffin of furniture pressed up against the open side of the couch (too late to turn it around) and the couch's back at the other, dog and cat on top of me at night. The dog is constantly terrified, and I can't blame him, poor guy.
This will continue for about a week. I hope not much more than a week.
It's surreal, honestly. It feels like my brain has stopped. I've been reading a lot of library books by sitting near windows, and making soothing sounds at the dog. I slept about twelve hours last night, interuptions aside, and will probably do the same tonight. What else is there to do? It's too dark and loud and hot and wifi-free and confused to do anything but lie down with earplugs in and try to sleep. At least the noise is pretty constant, except for when the dog's terror turns to barking, or George throws a meowing hissy fit.
Zabina refuses to come inside except when it's raining. (I can't blame her.) Oh! And it's been raining a lot. Still. Thunderstorms to terrify the dog, sudden cloudbursts to make me panic, a single giant piece of hail in a parking lot for no good reason. The weather is bizarre and I have no confidence that it will ever stop being so.
Maybe we'll flood a third time. Ha. Ha. Ha.
I talked with the disaster people about what to do to prevent this next time. They sort of looked apologetic, and said that the weather's been getting worse and weirder, and the official flood maps aren't caught up, so...maybe nothing. They know a guy who's done everything: moats, french drains, barriers, pump systems. They show up to dry his house two or three times a year. And when the water's coming up through the floor, and I'm sweeping it out through the front door because the water level is lower outside than inside... I just don't know. I don't know.
I'm sure not getting any writing done. I consider it an accomplishment to remember to eat three meals, feed the cats, shower, and remember to leave the house for an internet session somewhere every day.
Another week of this. Hell. And Rob's in Tokyo for more than that, though at least that makes the part where the mattress is out of commission for space reasons (and possibly slightly damp, and I am worried we'll have to replace that, too) less of a puzzle for figuring out where everyone can sleep. I am...lacking in hugs and in quiet and in confidence. I am constantly anxious, and I can't even reassure myself that it's probably okay--like I was with all the previous thunderstorms, talking to the panicking dog, after the previous flood--because I am no longer sure that it's probably okay.
I love this house. But Austin's weather sure doesn't. At least the floors are all porcelain tile now, and pretty much immune to water damage. Did it that way on purpose, and it was a smart, smart move.
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The weather really does seem to have it in for you guys. All due sympathies, and virtual hugs if you want 'em.