I’m sick and tired of hurricanes. I spent an hour and a half hiding in my hallway as Hurricane Charley blasted through my town, listening with horror as the storm snapped the power lines in the back yard, took down my big, beautiful orange tree and helped itself to part of my carport. We had no electricity for three days, during which I was in remarkably high spirits although feeling terribly cut off from the world because, obviously, we had no television or internet access. At least we still had our roof and windows.

Three weeks later, Hurricane Frances decided to pay a visit. We willingly stood in line for three hours at the home improvement store for plywood, got our precious ten-sheet rations, boarded up the windows on the sides of the house we figured the winds would hit the hardest, then skipped town in a hurry. Three days later, we came home to find part of our back porch roof in shreds and the neighbor’s huge pine tree draped over the power lines. Needless to say, my spirits were not as high this time around. Still, we got off pretty lucky. Many of the other houses on the east coast of Florida didn’t fare nearly as well. From the time we got back home to the time power was restored a second time, another three days.

It’s a wonder that I haven’t gone violent nor had a nervous breakdown. But of course, there’s still plenty of opportunity and time for that as the power of three rears it ugly head yet again and promises to bless us with a third hurricane, Ivan. There’s absolutely no point in taking the boards off the windows or buying anything that requires refrigeration for about a week. I’m not sure whether to be apathetic, resigned and patient, or run screaming for the hills that don’t exist in my state. In any case, I’m really, really sick and tired of hurricanes.