Word is that a tropical storm is supposed to hit Houston sometime tomorrow afternoon or evening, most likely while I'm at work. I can't help but recall the hellacious flood of 2001, of which I had the dishonor of being subjected to, and which I desperately hope is not reprised in the next couple of days. I cannot afford to have my car fucked by the vagaries of weather, nor do I wish to be stuck at work, worrying whether or not my house is receiving an aquatic reaming, especially since my ferrets will be here. I'm going to get hold of Sara first thing tomorrow and see if she can keep an eye on the place, since her new apartment is on the third floor and is therefore pretty much floodproof. With any luck, the rain will come at a steady pace, knocking on the door of H-Town instead of trying to kick it in, and my possessions and well-being will remain intact. Either way, it's supposed to rain all weekend, which should be fucking great, since I'll be moving. Nothing like lugging furniture and waterlogged cardboard boxes around town.

Ah, well. There's nowt to be done about it, so I'll just sit here, smoke a du Maurier, and sip on this glass of incredibly good Rhum Barbancourt from Haiti. C'est la vie.