Irene's Aftermath

I got home with no real problems last night (the roads were deserted, the flooding had subsided), then took a half-hour power shower (spending much of the previous twenty-four hours calf deep in dirty water, and having strong winds blowing up a fine spray of gack in which one finds oneself leads to a not-so-fresh feeling). I crashed hard around eleven PM, and slept until noon. Yeah, I can still pull all-nighters and function well, but I can't recover from such stints as well as I did when I was younger. I was pretty spacey for a couple of hours, and felt like I'd caught a major ass-whupping (I guess I did). A couple of cups of coffee, and I finally felt somewhat civilized. The Director of Operations, with whom I'd had a running phone conversation throughout my long Irenish slog, called me to thank me for my dedication, and inform me that the picnic had been cancelled (so much for swapping Irene stories with everybody). I've had good bosses in the past, but I've never been in love with the boss before.

I spent a little bit of time checking out the area, and there are branches down all over the place, to the extent that some roads are still closed to through traffic. My neighborhood got off lightly (I live on top of a hill), and we hadn't even lost electricity at any time. All told, I've pretty much recovered from Irene, except for tha pile of damp, dirty laundry that's going to require some attention...

POSTSCRIPT: Monsieur Bouffant informed me in the comments that yesterday was Jack Vance's 95th birthday. Jack Vance being one of my favorite authors, his birthday would have merited a major post, had I not been calf-deep in dirty water and up to my neck in a shitstorm.