This Fucking Storm…

… has rocked me. 

It has been one week since Sandy whipped into the coast, rendering me stranded in my apartment for two days, then stranded in Bed-Stuy, then stranded to wherever the “J-bus” would take me, if it even chose to amble over the Williamsburg Bridge that hour of that day, then stranded in this weird fog that puffs up around a human when the human has been suddenly paralyzed in this truncated world of kinda-sorta-no-work, kinda-sorta-nowhere-to-go, kinda-sorta-post-apocalyptica. I don’t even know… all the cabs, all the drinks, all the junk food, all the hazy conversations I’ve had, maybe, with others, all the parts of Brooklyn I’ve traversed on foot for the first time since I moved here. 

Sandy, you’ve reduced me to this. My blood is bloody mary, my hair smells like smoke, my eyes have been red for days, my birth control is being held hostage on 42nd street, Manhattan is a dream, Brooklyn is a forest, I’ve gained five pounds, I’ve run out of Advil, I’ve slept the whole time, I’ve been awake the whole time.

  1. laurenspendsmoney posted this