Nothing so focuses me as an opportunity. To get my knickers in a twist. Adrenaline. Weather events. I take after my paternal grandfather. He fed himself on the milk of Pepto-Bismol.
I am shortly to go to storm-prep shopping with a Shopping List of Hysteria on which I have written: Tuna. Bottled water. Wine. Generator (
Meteorologists are calling Joaquin "erratic" and "uncertain" in its "cone." Men. Ha. I'm more uncertain about the waterproofness of my new suede clogs, which is dunderheaded and petty and a first world problem. I would be rearranging deck chairs on Titanic.
I am a conehead.
Gird Up Your Loins, Elizabeth! is something I have never said until I found an extremely helpful picture of how to do it. That's what's been missing. Not the desire, but the how. The DIY.