NO CONSOLATION

A powerful hurricane comes from the Pacific.  It hits a region of Mexico that is sparsely populated, and there are no deaths recorded.  We are relieved, here, for the people who live there.  And we think that’s the end of it.  Then this bitch comes into Texas, causes massive flooding, and several deaths.  It continues into Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and here–Northwest Florida.  And it dumps rain where none is needed, none is wanted.  And we think, ‘What the hell?  Why didn’t this storm go into California instead, where rain is desperately needed?’

This rain just won’t stop.  It makes a day seem like a year.

So many times, hurricanes from the Atlantic have landed somewhere else, then dumped rain here.  But I have never known a hurricane from the Pacific to come this way.  Ever.

I know I’m supposed to be grateful that this storm didn’t come out of the Atlantic, and into the Gulf of Mexico, and land here–like Ivan did in 2004.  But I’m not.  I despise this goddamned rain.

It could always be worse.  But that’s no consolation.

Because it could always be better too.

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