I’m speaking to those of us who live in the Pacific Northwest and got our asses handed to us over the course of several long days, starting, of course, on a Monday, officially referred to as November 15, 2021.
I wonder if that date will prove to be numerologically significant?
If yes, I can only imagine it will translate to “sucks to be you.” That the rest of the province and nation are also being held hostage to the devastation is scant comfort. It only really counts if you’ve boots on the ground. And in the days to come, that’s all I want to see. Boots. Not the bodies that will emerge as waters recede.
Tonight’s really trying to surpass the efforts of every day that ever was. And yet, even as we fall towards Hell, this git or that is busy complaining about the inadvisability of pumping out flood plains. I’m looking forward to reading their thesis.
Still others suggest the floods are karmic revenge for driving out the Indigenous peoples who once lived here. It’s not that I don’t think theres a time and place. It’s that I know this isn’t it.
Maybe we can wait for smug till we’re all out of the woods?
I’m gratified to see some people rising high, even if others are getting in classless, inbred fights over toilet paper and milk.
As if we’re not stuck on this fragile marble together.
Anyhow, buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.