The line in French from Waiting for Godot means, "Well, let's get on with it!"
Waiting for Wilma. She's battering Mexico. Flirting with Florida, batting her outer bands at us, sultry wench she is, teasing us, promsing, I'll be there FRIDAY. Then, SATURDAY. Then, SUNDAY. Now, MONDAY.
Possibly TUESDAY. Foul wench!
Do I put up the shutters? Or not. Do I take my last hot shower now? Or no? Do I slowly sink into the hurricane chasm of panic, fear and chaos? Or do I just have another beer and watch the Dolphins game?
In the meantime, here's a pix of me in Silverton, CO where Blair has a street named after her. That Blair Valentine, she WILL NOT leave me alone! Now she wants to write a werewolf story. It's halfway done. She's threatening to lock me up until she finishes. I can't write. I'm too stressed about Wilma and DH's surgery next week. Our lives are suspended in a whirling mass of wind, rain and destruction that may arrive. Or may not.
Eh bien, continuons, already!