On the scale of hurricane worriedness (is that a word?), here’s how it all shakes down:
I’m not writing out a will or anything, because I already did it. However. I’m not keen on making my 50 mile commute home in torrential rains and 40 mph winds.
So I’m obsessively checking the forecast, and the school closings, and the tree outside my window (to see if it’s windy enough to snap branches yet), and the construction hole outside my other window (to see if it’s a mudslide yet), and I learn that every. other. institution of learning in this fair city has decided to close in early afternoon. All the elementary, middle and high schools. All the colleges. All the parochial schools.
Everyone, it seems, except us.
But you know what?
I’m implementing my own departmental inclement weather policy, which states that when it starts to get bad, my ass is out of here. And I’ve cancelled my evening student programs, and I’m sending my secretary home.
Because, fuck this.
There isn’t a single weather forecaster in the entire universe who thinks that this storm is going to miss us, because it’s a goddamn ENORMOUS FUCKING HURRICANE.
We’re not going to get the worst of it, because we aren’t on the coast. But are we going to get some severe weather? My magic 8-ball says yes.
Ugh. So I’m leaving early today, although I haven’t decided exactly when. Because, honestly, I’ve built up enough comp time from working several weeks of 12-hour days that if I decide I want to walk out in the middle of the day when it’s bright and sunny, I can.
And no one can say anything to me.
Because I’m the boss.
Oh, also, if you missed it – check out my entry from yesterday afternoon, as it has inspired a whole bunch of really thoughtful comments from people.