They're all good days I suppose. That old dog and I are just sitting around waiting for a hurricane. It's hard to imagine but I'm pretty sure she knows how much I love her. I know I tell folks things that I shouldn't, things they don't want to hear. I'm doing my best to change that. Don't take any bar bets on me. What's that they paved the road to hell with?
A few hours sleep and I wake up to find that we're pretty much in the center of the projected path for landfill for Irma. Did I mention that she's back to a Category 5 hurricane?
Jamaica is nervous now even though it's eerily calm outside. Me? I'm feeling too lazy to take care of all the little chores that are necessary now. If I don't write for a bit it doesn't mean I don't love you.
Of course I meant "landfall" but "landfill" is so much more melodramatic. Rum will make everything darker now. Dark rum. Love.
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