Wet

Be prepared for scattered thoughts.

I'm hiding in my bedroom now, because this is the last time I'll be able to do this in more than a week. Definitely sounding like more than a week now, because apparently the insurance adjustor's dragging his feet on what needs to be done here, and wants to see if the place can be dried out before they try to tear things up. The flood fixy guy says that this could mean adding an extra five days onto the job. Or, you know, the place could miraculously dry out. As the adjustor's hoping.

There are strange men in my kitchen, packing up my dishes. I insisted on packing Grandma's china myself. Now they're in my bedroom, taking out the clothes that we're not keeping.

When I was in Saskatchewan, I felt so dry. I was constantly drinking water. My hands were getting scratchy. Now I can't even imagine dryness. Everything's wet. It's wet outside. Everything I own has this clamminess to it. My house is so humid.

My friends Vic and Barb will be taking us in. It's going to be pretty crowded there, but I'm glad that I'm going to be staying somewhere with home-cooked meals and laundry. That's a huge relief, actually.

Yeah. That's what's going on in my head right now. I'm still feeling so stunned. I'm having a lot of trouble wrapping my mind around the amount of time that we're going to be away. When do I get to get back to normal?