Big hurricane entry of DOOM!!!
I promise an entry about the hurricane, I deliver an entry about the hurricane.
Friday, 10:00 pm: Move into, as Matt calls it, "the box". Basically it's the interior hallway of the apartment, with the bathroom sink. Next to it is the bathroom itself. We closed the doors to the bedroom and office, and when he comes in (after losing cable), we close the door to the front of the apartment. Locked in for the night. Yee-ha. I've taken a shower and filled the bathtub with water, in case we need it to flush the toilet.
Friday, 11:30 pm: Try to get some sleep, but Kilala is scratching incessantly at the door to the front of the apartment. Solution? Spray some "feline calming spray" on the floor; surprisingly, it works. He curls up after about five minutes and goes right to sleep. Doesn't work too well for humans, however. Fall asleep to the sound of the wind.
Saturday, 1:20 am: The radio is cutting out. The AC is stopping and starting. We're losing power. I jump up and shut off the AC, and then we lose power completely. It's pitch black and getting warm quickly. I can hear the metal sheeting over a carport banging outside. Pixie is sleeping on Matt, until she decides to jump up on the bathroom sink.
Saturday, 4:10 am: The wind is howling. The rain (I'm assuming it's rain and not anything else) is beating against the front door and the windows. It's so bad that the windows could break at any moment. This is why we didn't sleep in our bed: it's right under a window. The carport roof is banging much louder, and then the sound of bending metal: it sounds like it's been picked up by the wind. Someone's car alarm chirps every three seconds, and it sounds like our car's alarm goes off. I press the red panic button, which seems to stop it, but who knows. Try to fall back to sleep, with limited success.
Saturday, 7:30 am: The wind has died down; it's now only tropical-storm force (39-73 mph sustained). It's still pouring rain outside. Matt and I start inspecting the apartment: first, the office (fine), then the bedroom (fine), then the front (also fine). I collapse in my own bed and sleep for a few hours.
Saturday, 11:15 am: We decide to venture outside, since it's stopped raining. There are tree limbs and shingles down everywhere. We walk down toward the bayou, and find that Burdine (a side street that runs perpendicular to the bayou) is flooded. We pick our way around, going through the complex, and make it to the bayou. It's high, probably three feet from spilling over its banks. There's water on the ground, as if it already had topped the banks. It's also running very fast. Tree limbs litter the street, and the police cruisers go around the hazards. Neighbors are helping to clear Braeswood of the tree branches, hauling those that are manageable to the median. Despite the danger of being out in these winds (really just like a blustery spring day in Illinois), the police do not yell at anyone to get back inside. The gray clouds help keep things cool, though. When we get back to the apartment, we throw open the windows. I go back to sleep again.
Saturday, 2:30 pm: Do my eyes deceive me? Does the other side of the street have POWER?! Dammit!
Saturday, 9:30 pm: Decide to go to sleep. Can't sleep in my own bed, since it's warm in the room, so I sleep in front of the big bay window in the living room.
Friday, 10:00 pm: Move into, as Matt calls it, "the box". Basically it's the interior hallway of the apartment, with the bathroom sink. Next to it is the bathroom itself. We closed the doors to the bedroom and office, and when he comes in (after losing cable), we close the door to the front of the apartment. Locked in for the night. Yee-ha. I've taken a shower and filled the bathtub with water, in case we need it to flush the toilet.
Friday, 11:30 pm: Try to get some sleep, but Kilala is scratching incessantly at the door to the front of the apartment. Solution? Spray some "feline calming spray" on the floor; surprisingly, it works. He curls up after about five minutes and goes right to sleep. Doesn't work too well for humans, however. Fall asleep to the sound of the wind.
Saturday, 1:20 am: The radio is cutting out. The AC is stopping and starting. We're losing power. I jump up and shut off the AC, and then we lose power completely. It's pitch black and getting warm quickly. I can hear the metal sheeting over a carport banging outside. Pixie is sleeping on Matt, until she decides to jump up on the bathroom sink.
Saturday, 4:10 am: The wind is howling. The rain (I'm assuming it's rain and not anything else) is beating against the front door and the windows. It's so bad that the windows could break at any moment. This is why we didn't sleep in our bed: it's right under a window. The carport roof is banging much louder, and then the sound of bending metal: it sounds like it's been picked up by the wind. Someone's car alarm chirps every three seconds, and it sounds like our car's alarm goes off. I press the red panic button, which seems to stop it, but who knows. Try to fall back to sleep, with limited success.
Saturday, 7:30 am: The wind has died down; it's now only tropical-storm force (39-73 mph sustained). It's still pouring rain outside. Matt and I start inspecting the apartment: first, the office (fine), then the bedroom (fine), then the front (also fine). I collapse in my own bed and sleep for a few hours.
Saturday, 11:15 am: We decide to venture outside, since it's stopped raining. There are tree limbs and shingles down everywhere. We walk down toward the bayou, and find that Burdine (a side street that runs perpendicular to the bayou) is flooded. We pick our way around, going through the complex, and make it to the bayou. It's high, probably three feet from spilling over its banks. There's water on the ground, as if it already had topped the banks. It's also running very fast. Tree limbs litter the street, and the police cruisers go around the hazards. Neighbors are helping to clear Braeswood of the tree branches, hauling those that are manageable to the median. Despite the danger of being out in these winds (really just like a blustery spring day in Illinois), the police do not yell at anyone to get back inside. The gray clouds help keep things cool, though. When we get back to the apartment, we throw open the windows. I go back to sleep again.
Saturday, 2:30 pm: Do my eyes deceive me? Does the other side of the street have POWER?! Dammit!
Saturday, 9:30 pm: Decide to go to sleep. Can't sleep in my own bed, since it's warm in the room, so I sleep in front of the big bay window in the living room.