per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt

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Anyone who knows me also knows I'm a worry-wart. Of course, this past year has brought more a fair share of real things to worry about, as I think I mentioned in an earlier post… but I certainly don't limit myself to that. No, that would be too simple. I can get hours of good worrying out of hypothetical situations, or an enigmatic comment made by a friend. And when my worries have a real basis, I tend to go overboard on mulling the worst-case scenarios, or trying to make up contingency plans...

And the worst real worries are the ones that approach slowly yet inexorably, with a high degree of uncertainty but absolutely nothing I can do about them... except watch and hope and pray. For example, Hurricane Isabella, currently spinning in malevolent beauty somewhere southeast of Cape Hatteras. All the current predictions have it boring more-or less straight up the Chesapeake... right to my proverbial door, or near enough. But those are just predictions.

:::sigh::: I used to have a much greater affection for storms. But the joys of being a homeowner include a whole host of worries, everything from roof to basement and wall to wall. There's nothing like a leaky basement to take the joy out of rain... or a leaky roof for that matter, although sjo and interactivearts have us trumped on that for now. And our wonderful dog has a huge problem with loud noises, which not only means she panics at thunderstorms, but also that she pees on things during them… generally our bed, if she can get there.

I'm not complaining, not really. It's much better to be a homeowner than a renter, much less one of the homeless. At least we don't live on the Gulf Coast, where they get this kind of thing regularly… or on the coast at all, which is guaranteed to take a shellacking no matter where Isabella hits land. Or, for that matter, the Great Plains, where they have abominations like that mile-wide tornado that hit near Oklahoma City a few years ago. I've just decided that if I'm going to fret senselessly, I might as well vent some of it off onto my LJ, where I can inflict it on other folks. ;-) Seriously, I've actually had some success in converting this nervous energy into creative juice... managed to knock off another chunk of the current chapter of my novel... that's something to feel proud of.

Ay, me. I think some chamomile tea is in order tonight. Or some single-malt Scotch- I have this terrible, awful research task for the Signals campaign: what Scotch should I use to represent the product of the distillery that my character's family owns? I guess I'll have to sample a bunch. Oh, how I suffer.

I'm just glad I instituted a sort of bedtime psychic hygiene program- a personal ritual loosely based on the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, wherein I (amongst other things) deliberately put aside the cares of the day. It certainly seems to help...

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The Lesser Banishing Ritual is prescribed for adepts of the Golden Dawn for a reason. It's a very good meditation.

If Isabel hits, the chicks and I will be drinking hurricanes! You should do so, too. It'll improve everything.

Oh BTW, if you don't have flood insurance, FEMA is required to sell it to you by law.

Flood insurance is phenomenally expensive... However, you can get a rider on your homeowner's policy for groundwater coming up under the house, asks about sump pumps, and the like. Not too expensive; when I moved into the current place, I made darn sure to get the rider, only cost about $50-$75 extra per year, or less. (Can't remember)

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